


Helter-Shelter

by htbthomas



Category: Single Parents (TV 2018)
Genre: COVID-19, F/M, Getting Together, Humor, No Character Death, No Character Illness, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, quarantined, shelter in place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: Is that coughing in the background at Lance Bass Space Camp COVID-19 or just a cold? Doesn't matter, Will isn't taking any chances, and he's going to make sure Angie doesn't either.Set post-Season 2, timeline of show adjusted to match.
Relationships: Will Cooper/Angie D'Amato
Comments: 104
Kudos: 80





	1. Makin' Things Weird

**Author's Note:**

> So the cancellation is a huge bummer, but that ending sure leaves a lot of fic fodder!
> 
> Thanks to Sin for brainstorming, and blithers for both brainstorming and beta. ♥

The screen lights up, the phone buzzing in her hand. Again.

"God," Angie mutters, and turns the phone upside down. You try to ignore someone, and what do they do? Make it weird. That's what this was, makin' things weird.

Of course, Will doesn't know that Angie remembers what he said in that drunken, sleepy haze. _"I think I'm in love with you."_ He probably doesn't even remember that he said it.

But maybe he does?

And that's why all the texts? And calls?

It's giving her a funny feeling and she doesn't like it. So Angie does what she does best, and pushes it down. Pushes it _way_ down. Like, black hole deep. Because she's not ready to deal with it yet.

She's only been in Barstow a week. That's not enough time to figure anything out, if there is even anything to figure out in the first place. She's spending the summer, rent- and employment-free with the father of her kid, to see if they make any sense. I mean, they gotta make sense, right? He’s turned out to be a great dad, he's grown up a lot, so he's probably a great partner, too, right? And the sex, man, the sex...

That they _used_ to have.

They haven't been sleeping together here in Barstow. They're taking things slow. That was Derek's idea, but Angie's kinda glad she didn't have to suggest it herself. They know they've got sexual chemistry. Duh. Got it in spades. It's the day-to-day stuff they have to see if they can make work.

She doesn't miss it really. She's not really even tempted right now, even when she looks at him in those tight jeans and that thin ringer T-shirt. Not like with—

The phone buzzes, skittering a little across the table.

"Damn it!" she says, reaching for the thing to switch it to silent. 

"Something wrong?" Derek calls from the other room.

"No, nothing, just—" She looks around for something to blame. "Um, banged my knee on the table." She does it for real then, for reasons unknown to man or Angie herself, and yelps at the actual pain. "Ow! Goddammit, why?!"

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah? Yeah." She sucks air through her teeth at the completely unnecessary throbbing in her knee. She'd only glanced at the screen when she turned it to silent. Just to see the name, not to read the text on the notifications.

By now, all the notifications have piled into a stack, she doesn't know how many, she doesn't care (or does she?), because she's not going to respond. She can't, if Derek found out that she was texting with Will, he'd—

Wait. Why would he care? Will's just a friend, right? There's nothing going on there, as far as he knows. He wouldn't think anything of it.

She growls in frustration and drops down into a chair. She can't deal with this right now. She even hid the snowman candle when they first got to Barstow because she didn't want Derek to ask—she didn't want to be reminded—pshh, whatever. That sucker is buried under three layers of old junk in Derek's storage closet.

The truth—which she can't admit to herself, but which also isn't frigging staying in that black hole—is that a lot more than that stupid candle is reminding her of Will. Any time she expects Derek to respond to something she says with some lame Dad-joke and he doesn't, any time she eats weird combinations of junk food and Derek joins in rather than chiding her about her health, any time she frowns at stains on the counter or floor that are there because Derek isn't following behind her like a human-Roomba... 

Aughhh.

She picks up the phone again, curious to see how many more messages there are now, and she sees a new one from Poppy. _Hey, girl. Why aren't you answering your texts? Will has been..._ The notification stops there, she'd have to click it to see the rest. But she's too appalled to do that. Not only has he been texting her nonstop for hours, he's got Poppy doing his dirty work now, too?

Nuh-uh. NUH. UH.

If he's not gonna take the hint...

She presses the off button on the side, watching the screen blessedly go to black. 

She looks at it for a few minutes, then tosses it in a drawer for good measure. She stands, stretches, wanders toward where she heard Derek's voice. There's some clanking like maybe he's making dinner or something? That'd be awesome. They've been doing a lot of messed up orders from Ratso's—which, hell yeah, free food—or DoorDash, which, right on, no cooking required. But she could go for maybe a homemade meatloaf or some mac and cheese or those garlic mashed potatoes that Sophie turned her on to—

Damn.

She walks into the kitchen, hoping for pizza rolls or leftovers from last night, but no. Derek's digging in a drawer for something. She straightens up, tosses her hair back and says, "Hey, babe?"

He turns, hopeful. Crap, she hasn't called him babe since they got to Barstow. Does that mean something? Does she want it to? "I, uh... thought we could maybe go out tonight. Maybe hit that new Mexican place? I could really go for some nachos right now."

He scratches at the back of his head, a screwdriver still gripped between his fingers. "Mexican? I don't know. I was thinking—"

The doorbell rings.

"Oh!" Angie says, brightening. "You already called someone, huh? Rock on, dude!" Dude? That's better than 'babe' in some ways, but so much worse in others...

"I—" 

She turns for the door, not waiting for whatever Derek was about to say, not bothering to look through the peephole. Grasping the door handle, she pulls it open, just as she realizes that she doesn't know if Derek prepaid on the app or has cash or—

"Oh, thank _god_."

Angie blinks a few times. This is not dinner. It's freaking-won't-stop-texting _Will Cooper_.


	2. Threat Level Vermillion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're not the DoorDash guy," Angie says, stupidly.

"You're not the DoorDash guy," Angie says, stupidly. Unless Will up and moved to Barstow in the past week. And he's not carrying any bags of food, either, but man, the bags under his eyes... And she hadn't noticed that his voice was muffled at first—what's with the surgical mask?

"You're okay." He surges forward to hug her, and Angie's mouth flaps open and shut a couple of times in shock. But then she finds herself hugging him back, eyes closing as she feels how warm he is, how right he feels, like that night when he—

Then without warning, he flinches and stutters back a few steps out of reach. 

"Oh, my god, I can't believe I did that, I was just so relieved to see you..." He pulls out a bottle of hand sanitizer and squirts a healthy dollop onto one palm. 

She also takes a step back, too weirded out to even recognize what he's doing or why he's here—away from this feeling she's not ready to face yet. She watches him rub his hands together vigorously until her brain suddenly snaps back on. "Wait, what? Okay? Of course I'm okay. So I didn't reply to a few texts. That doesn't mean you have to drive to Barstow to check on me!"

"A few?" he says, eyes wide and a little red around the edges. "Try fifty!"

God. Fifty? She didn't think she'd been ignoring him that long. Now that she looks at him more closely, he's a bit ragged, unshaven, shaky even. "Sorry, I guess I just forgot to check it today." He'll believe that, right? Better than admitting the truth that she's having trouble admitting even to herself.

"It's fine," Will says, a little more easily than she would have expected. "But we gotta go, now. Pack your bag, or whatever you can throw together. We have to get to Lance Bass Space Camp as soon as we can."

"Space Camp?" Derek says from over her shoulder, and she nearly jumps because she'd completely forgotten he was in the house.

"Oh, hi, Derek," Will says, and there isn't even a trace of malice in his voice. Something must really be _up_.

“Will. What are you doing here?” Angie asks.

"I was talking to Sophie on the phone this morning, and someone was coughing in the background, maybe a counselor, maybe a kid—" He starts to breathe heavily, the fabric of the mask puffing out and sucking back in.

Derek's eyebrows draw down. "Someone was..." He looks to Angie for confirmation. "...coughing?"

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir," the counselor dared to tell Will. "We have a strict closed rehearsal policy here at Lance Bass Space Camp.”

"Well—" From his safe six-foot distance, Will peered at the name embroidered on the silver lamé half-space suit, half-unitard. "—Manhattan, my daughter and my best friend's son are in there, rolling around in God knows how many germs and viruses while they, I don't know, learn to tango in zero-G?"

"We don't have zero-G capabilities yet, sir, the permit—" Manhattan started to say, but Will didn't care, that wasn't the point.

" _There_..." Will jabbed his finger past Manhattan's shoulder, toward the main building, " _Is Someone. Coughing._ " He moved to the side a little, where he thought he could see Lance through one of the windows. "And they are infecting everyone, including my kids, in the middle of a pandemic!"

"Sir," Manhattan said gently. "Did you hear about the variety show cast list? Is that what this is about? We told the campers there are no small parts—everyone is important—"

With a grunt of frustration, Will rushed Manhattan—he knew he should have worn his football helmet—and side-stepped just in time to slide around without touching them. 

"Sir!" The voice was extremely annoyed. "I told you you can't go in there!"

Will didn't turn around, pelting across the grass. "I'm checking out my daughter—I don't care if there are no refunds!"

* * *

"Yes! Coughing!" Will says, gesticulating with latex glove-clad hands. She hadn't noticed those before.

Angie's just as confused. "And you drove to Barstow... because why exactly?" 

"Coronavirus!" Will nearly shouts, and the mask doesn't really even muffle his distress. "Well, COVID-19 is more technically correct, but you know, that virus that is rampaging across Asia? It's here now. In Southern California. The governor is talking about a shutdown."

"Huh." She must have been ignoring the news just as much as Will's texts. "It's not really that bad is it? Like the flu or something, right?" She looks at Derek, who nods. "I got the flu at camp when I was a kid, and I was fine. Just holed up in my bunk a few days—"

"Ohhh, no," Will says, and takes a step toward her before hopping back again. "It's way worse. Even if all of the kids are asymptomatic, they could spread it among the staff. And if there's a shutdown, what then? They're stuck at camp for who knows how long, away from their parents, in a neverending loop of infection? Or they send them home on that bus? Lord knows there's no way to properly social distance on that germ mobile!"

" _Whoa_ , whoa, get it. Calm down." This must be, like, threat level vermillion for him if he's nearly hyperventilating. Angie looks toward Will's car, parked askew on the street. "Is Sophie in the car, or...?" It doesn't look like it but she's a short kid, Angie doesn't want to judge.

"No," he says, his hands dropping dramatically to his sides. "She wouldn't leave Graham behind."

* * *

"Dad, what are you wearing?" Her tone was more disappointed than surprised, her crossed arms really selling it.

"Don't call me Dad," Will said in a high-pitched falsetto. "I'm Graham's mom, here to pick him up!" He tugged at the wig, which was really not a good shade for his skin tone, but beggars couldn't be choosers when the closest costume shop was twenty miles away and time was of the essence.

Sophie sighed. "There's no way they're going to buy that. I wouldn't have bought it when I was three."

"But what about the pink mask? It disguises my face pretty well, right?"

"It may disguise the face, but not the figure."

She was right. Even the size 20 flowered dress—which he had picked up at the closest thrift store to the camp, of course on the opposite side compared to the costume shop—didn't hide his hairy arms or chunky calves.

"What else can I do? They won't let him go without a parent." Will walked delicately toward the gate, lifting one hand to wave cheerily at the counselor manning the gate. It was thankfully not Manhattan this time.

"What about ID?!" Sophie whisper-shouted after him.

"Angie wouldn't have carried it, either!" he whisper-shouted back before continuing on.

* * *

"She's right, I wouldn't. I don't even know where it is," Angie agrees, feeling no shame.

"Oh, yeah," Derek says. "I meant to tell you I found your license in the pickle jar yesterday. My bad." He pulls it out of his jeans pocket and hands it over.

It still has a bit of a vinegary smell, too. "Sweet!" Angie says, brightening.

Will just watches that exchange with a horror his mask doesn't hide. "Anyway..." he says after a long moment. "Turns out they did _not_ buy it, and the lack of ID was a moot point."

Angie and Derek just shrug. Coulda called that.

"So..." Will holds out a mask to Angie. "Put this on, get an overnight bag, and let's go."

Angie frowns.

"To get Graham."

Angie frowns a little harder.

"From that pestilence-ensnared hybrid hellhole of a half-science, half-theater camp!" Before she can frown again, he adds, "And you have to come, or both our kids might be stuck there quarantined, hospitalized, or worse!"

Angie sighs. When Will's like this, there's nothing left to do but go along. She turns back to Derek, whose face is sad but resigned. "Sounds like you gotta, Ang."

"Uh-yeah," Will says aggressively, but then takes a deep breath as he seems to realize how close to the edge he's come. "I mean," he says, swallowing, "please."

She looks at his face—frantic, worried, hopeful, pleading—and thinks about those hours they'll have to spend in the car together on the way back—alone, with a secret hanging over their heads—and then remembers that above all she's a mom—to a fantastic kid who is afraid of even more things than Will Cooper. "Let me go get my stuff."


	3. Mr. Clean's B-Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, he loves her, he knows that now, but that's not why he's here. He's a dad first and foremost, and Angie's a mom, and he can't let petty things like pining dramatically after the woman he's loved from afar rule their lives during a time of international crisis.

Will waits in the car while Angie grabs her things, his hands tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel. He wants to be on the road _now_ , his rational and irrational thoughts warring with each other. He didn't really think before setting off to Barstow, he just knew he had to get Angie in order to get Sophie, and his feelings for Angie couldn't get in the way of that. He'd promised Derek he would give them a summer to figure things out, and he's not going back on that. He's a man of honor. Of course, he loves her, he knows that now, but that's not why he's here. He's a dad first and foremost, and Angie's a mom, and he can't let petty things like pining dramatically after the woman he's loved from afar rule their lives during a time of international crisis. He'll get her back to Barstow with Graham, as soon as he can, and the little happy family can all shelter-in-place together—if and when the order comes.

He tries to ignore the stab of pain, right in the gut, that the thought gives him. 

So he unbuckles his seat belt, swiping the Clorox wipes off the dashboard as he does, and runs them over all the handles and surfaces again. He did this at every bathroom stop, when he got gas, any time he touched or came in contact with a new person. Which reminds him, time to change out the mask and gloves...

He's shaking a new mask out of the pack when the passenger side door opens and Angie climbs in.

"Wait!" he almost shouts at her. "Don't touch anything!"

She freezes, seat belt half pulled down. "Too late, dude."

Suppressing a huff of frustration, he passes over the boxes of gloves and masks. Then he pulls out another wipe and races around to the passenger door to give it another wipe down.

"Geez, I'm pretty sure I'm not Typhoid Mary or anything."

"You could be," Will says, scrubbing at the seat belt strap.

"Seriously?" 

Her tone is strange, like she's trying to rip him a new one, but also trying to hold back at the same time. It's not their usual banter, but he pushes it out of his mind to start to work on the handles of the door. "Seriously," he says, not looking at her. "They think most cases are asymptomatic. So you could have it, and not know it, and spread it to everyone and everything you come in contact with. Like Typhoid Mary."

"That's what that means?" she says, her voice now slightly muffled. "Huh."

Will stands up to inspect his handiwork. Did he miss anything she might have touched? He finally looks at her—she's got her mask and gloves on, and not fighting him over it. It makes the gut pain lessen a little bit. But there's something wrong. "Where's your bag?"

She holds up her phone and wallet. "It's just overnight, right? I can deal with wearing the same clothes for two days, no big deal."

"Then what took so—" Will shakes his head. It doesn't matter. She's here, she's got her ID, and they can get on the road. 

He turns toward the house, where Derek is still standing in the doorway. They give each other a long look, full of meaning. "Bring her back," Derek mouths.

Will gives him a solemn nod.

* * *

The ride back to LA seems a lot longer than the ride to Barstow was. On the way there, Angie was nervous, and couldn't keep her mind off the sudden return of her memory of what Will had said. The difference now? Well, she still can't keep her mind off what he said, but having him here in the car, a constant reminder of it, is excruciating. She can't ignore him the way she did his text messages.

She keeps her eyes on the edge of the road, watching the mile markers pass, taking note every time they jump by 10 miles, then 5 miles, then 1. All while trying not to suffocate under the mask and sweat through her gloves. She keeps making minor adjustments to the A/C, but it isn't helping. It's not the heat that's making her sweat.

They mostly ride in silence. Will doesn't turn on the radio or play any music from his phone, and she doesn't have very much on her phone right now anyway. When she surreptitiously scrolls through everything she does have, they all remind her of fun times she and Will have had. They could talk—usually Will is a lot more chatty, sometimes so chatty she wants to switch him off—but he's grimly focused on the road and getting back to that camp, all while driving exactly nine miles over the speed limit to avoid attracting the highway patrol.

It leaves her alone with her thoughts. Which, no.

She sees a sign for an exit which probably only has one station with way overpriced gas, but it doesn't matter, she needs a break from the car's suffocating environment. "I gotta hit the head, can we pull over?"

Will glances at her, paling. "You want to use a public restroom? At this time? Are you serious?"

"I mean," she says, clenching her knees together like it's do or die time, "I guess if you've got a jar and a funnel, I could—"

"No! No, I don't and I wouldn't, and—" He sighs. "Just let me wipe it down for you first, before you go in there. And wear shoe booties, for the love of God."

The gas station attendant looks them up and down—double masked, quadruple gloved, Will's even got a face-shield on while carrying a bucket full of cleaning items—before he hands them the key to the restroom. "You aren't... gonna go in there... together, are you?"

They trip over each other in their protestations. "Ew, dude! What kind of weirdos do you get around here, ugh! And you think I'm gonna get it on wearing this? Get freaky dressed like Mr. Clean's B-Team? As if!" / "Of course not, I just want to make sure it's completely clean so we don't carry any unwanted germs with us. It's for your protection too, sir! Who knows what sort of disease-bearing vagrants have been in..."

Will trails off when she stops, because the attendant is holding up his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa. I don't care what your kinks are. Just clean up after, okay?" He turns his face away, holding out the key pinched gingerly between two fingers.

Will scoffs and plucks the keys out of the attendant's fingers with a, "Thank you!" and Angie just follows him out.

When they open the door, she's pretty glad that Will made sure she's protected head to toe. There's a pervading stench and even from all the way outside, she can see grime all over every surface, in colors she doesn't want to think about. She turns and retches a little, avoiding getting any in her mask, thank God. 

Will sets his shoulders. "I'm going in."

She can't look. She wanders away from the building, toward the edge of the parking lot. They're the only ones out here, just them and the attendant. She can see the interstate from here, and a few cars pass, but none take the exit ramp. The land all around is just scrub and shades of brown. Does anyone actually live out there? Or does that poor sap commute from somewhere else?

A shiny iridescent green beetle scuttles toward her bright blue shoe booties and she jumps back. But she doesn't step on it, instead she watches it wend its way to the opposite edge of the parking lot, following a few paces behind. It's a little surreal, clad in PPE, trailing this little guy because she's letting her mind wander away from her petty troubles and there's nothing better to do while she waits for Will to— 

Crap. Her thoughts are back to Will.

She supposes it's no use. He's in there cleaning to protect her, to protect their kids. It's a little overboard, but it's one of the things she likes about him. No better man in a crisis than Will Cooper.

She hears a shout from behind her. "Angie! What are you doing?!"

She turns and yells back, hands on her hips. "Waiting for you! I've got my shoe booties on, you weirdo!" As she tromps back toward him, she's glad he can't see the fond smile she has underneath her mask.


	4. Patatas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just don't want to take any chances. Not with my kid's life." He looks at her, apologetic and solemn. "Our kids' lives."
> 
> She swallows. Then lifts her glass up quickly to take a swallow of soda to cover it. "I get that," she says, only coughing a little.

"You wanna get in here?" Graham warns, voice low and menacing, "you just try me." He gestures rudely at the door.

"They can't see that, you know," Sophie points out. "Better to try the security camera over there." It's ridiculous how many cameras are in this place, even in the costume closet of the International Dance Station, but the place is more wired up than Big Brother. At least that's what Sophie's dad said, not sounding unhappy about it at all, since he could keep 24/7 eyes on his baby girl. Also what he said.

"Oh, I think they can hear it in my voice," Graham says, Sicilian to the core. He waits, staring at the door for three long moments. "You see, they stopped pleading and knocking, the _patatas_." He nods at it with satisfaction. 

"Wonder how long 'till they get here? How long does it take to drive to Barstow and back?"

"At least four Animal Crossing Let's Play videos," Graham says, never taking his attention from the door. 

There's another knock. "All right, Graham, Sophie?" They both look at each other—it's the man himself: Lance Bass.

"Sent in the big guns, eh?" Graham drawls. "You got the goods?"

"If by 'the goods' you mean your parents, then yes." He sounds extremely tired. "They're at reception."

"Ah, ah, ah! Not falling for that one again. You know what I need for you to make this right."

* * *

Graham runs full-tilt into Angie's arms and she swings him around once, then lifts her mask to kiss him on the cheek. "Mom, you would be so proud of me!" he says, his cheeks flushed pink. "We barricaded ourselves in a closet and wouldn't let anyone open the door unless they said the magic words!"

Angie beams at him. "Really? Give 'em here," she says, opening her hand. Graham pulls an only slightly warm package of Red Vines out of his inner jacket pocket and places them on her gloved palm. "You're a champ."

Will pulls out a wipe from the can in his hand and gives the Red Vine package a thorough once over.

Graham has learned the proper form of bribery for her heart. Movie theater candy. Any kind except SnoBalls. Those are disgusting. "Hope you scored some, too?"

Graham's already digging into a freshly-wiped package of gummi bears, so he just nods. He holds them out to Sophie and Will who both decline with a wave of their hands. 

The kids are both masked and gloved up, luggage in the trunk, and they're off. But then it suddenly hits her. "Where to next?"

"My place." / "Home." / "Sophie's," Will, Sophie and Graham say simultaneously. 

That's what she just realized. With four hot subletters at her place, there is really no choice. Since she didn't pack well the first time she left for Barstow, maybe she could run in and grab some more clothes real quick? But the look in Will's eyes tells her it's long past time for him to get his daughter home. "All right. I call couch!" she says brightly.

* * *

"So, like," Angie says, sipping from a glass of soda (no way she's gonna risk wine tonight), "Do you really think there's coronavirus going around that camp?"

Will shrugs. "Maybe. It's in California now, and anyone could have it and not know." He's in the armchair, Angie having claimed the entire couch with blankets and stretching out to make sure he thought twice before sitting there. "I just don't want to take any chances. Not with my kid's life." He looks at her, apologetic and solemn. "Our kids' lives."

She swallows. Then lifts her glass up quickly to take a swallow of soda to cover it. "I get that," she says, only coughing a little.

"You know you're going to have to quarantine for 14 days with Derek and Graham, just to be safe. As soon as we get you back there, Sophie and I are going to do the same."

Her mouth drops open. But then she closes it, nodding. "Mm hmm." Okay... she thought she would just be careful, wash her hands more, make sure the boys did, too. But...

He must see something in her eyes. "You have to promise me, Angie. No going out, for any reason. Only essential deliveries." He leans toward her. "Even if the kids didn't pick it up and pass it on to us, any one of you could catch it from someone else who isn't as careful."

"O-okay." That's gonna be a buttload of DoorDash for sure.

"No really." He comes closer, grasping her hand before she can flinch away. "I need you to say the words. 'I promise.'"

His hand is so warm, so firm, it's making her either want to run away or come the rest of the way forward. She tries to play it off. "What am I? Sophie or Graham? Repeat after me, or some nonsense?"

"Angie."

God, she can't even look at him when he's like this.

"I have to know I'm going to see you again." His voice breaks a little, and panicked, she looks up into his eyes again. They're wet with tears. "I can't lose you."

Not 'I can't lose my best friend,' but 'I can't lose _you_.' She wants to curl into a little ball and moan until the rollercoaster of emotions subsides.

But instead, she clears her throat which is closed up too tightly for comfort. "Of course you're not gonna lose me, you goof. I'm gonna be winning all the walker races against you at the nursing home in fifty years. You bet I'm gonna stick around!"

"I wouldn't be so sure, I'm going to start taking online yoga classes, and I'm going to have the physique of a forty-year old," he jokes. "But..." He goes still. "I still need you to say it."

"Fine, fine!" she explodes. "I promise."

And before she can blink, he's rushed forward to wrap her in a bear hug. But it doesn't feel like a best friend hug, it feels like more. Warmer, longer, more intimate. Is she imagining that, or...? She lets herself settle into it, enjoying it, remembering what it felt like to cuddle with him that night. She doesn’t cuddle with Derek, pretty much ever, actually, that's never really been their deal. How is Will so good at this? She wants it to go on and on...

"Wow!" Graham says loudly from somewhere, and she flinches guiltily out of Will's arms. "Animal Crossing is thirsty work! You got any apple juice around here?"

Will’s arms come to his sides slowly, and he has a thoughtful expression on his face, not guilty. "Yeah, bud. Look in the fridge. Pick your poison. Apple, pomegranate, orange, grape..."

"No, thanks. Apple's my calling card." He starts to dig in the fridge.

Angie suddenly feels hot all over, that she's making such a drama out of this. He clearly meant it for a friendly hug, not some secretive way to communicate his feelings toward her. Get over yourself, D'Amato!

"You okay?" Will asks, concerned. "Your face is flushed."

She answers back quietly to make sure Graham doesn't overhear. "Yeah, no, fine, just blankets, you know..." It's gibberish and she knows it, but she's having trouble stringing words together coherently.

He waits until Graham has left the room again before putting the back of his hand on Angie's forehead. She feels the heat rise. "Hmm," he says, frowning. "You feel a little warm to me." He rises from his chair. "I'm going to go get the thermometer."

As soon as he's out of the room, she presses her cold glass of soda, mostly ice now, against her forehead. Yeah, so she's feeling warm, but it sure as shooting isn't any virus. She's dreading what the reading will be. Can a thermometer read that kind of heat? She has no idea.

When she hears his footfalls grow closer, she lowers the glass and swipes an arm across her forehead. He appears with some kind of high-tech plastic gun in his hand, and when he's a yard away, he pulls the trigger at her forehead. It beeps. "You're fine, no fever."

She lets out an awkward chuckle. "I told you, dude. Blankets."

"You need some lighter ones? I think I've got a cotton summer quilt in the linen closet you could trade for these fleece ones."

"Um, sure. Knock yourself out," she says. It'll get him out of the room again, at least. 

She flops over on her side. Is she gonna make it through the night without crumbling? Right now it's taking all her will not to A) run as far away as possible or B) confess everything. He's not making it easy, either, with his friend concern and his dad protectiveness.

"Okay," he says as he comes back into the room carrying a big white fluffy cotton quilt. "Let's see how this is for you."

She trades them out, wrapping herself in the lighter blanket. It is better, and maybe if she puts on the ceiling fan the breeze and the white noise will lull her to sleep without the aid of alcohol.

"Comfy?" he asks.

"Snug as a bug in a _patata_."

Will raises an eyebrow. "You mean 'in a rug,' don't you?"

"No! Ew. You don't have bugs in your rug, do you? What kind of weirdos say that." She burrows down deep, tucking her legs up beneath her and making a nest out of the throw pillows. "Yeah."

He gives her what feels like a fond smile and starts to lean toward her. Oh no. Is he gonna kiss her goodnight? She shuts her eyes tight and braces for impact.

But then she feels a gentle pat on her shoulder, two times as he says the words, "Good night."

She mumbles back, like she's already half asleep, and a minute later he's turned out the lights. She waits until the whole saying goodnight to the kids is over and his footfalls have completely faded from hearing.

Oh god, peace at last.

* * *

Sometime after dawn—or at least based on the evidence of the light filtering through closed eyelids and gentle sounds coming through several layers of blankets around her ears—she wakes up. The peace she wanted so much last night was a long time coming. The last she remembered looking at the clock, it was three a.m. or something. She just couldn't keep the words 'I think I'm in love with you' from repeating over and over in her head.

But the sooner she gets up, the sooner they're back on the road to Barstow and she can shove this worry of what to do behind a wall of Derek.

"Good morning," she murmurs to whoever might be in the room, but no one responds.

Lifting the blankets off her ears, the gentle sounds resolve themselves into the audio of a news broadcast coming from the TV. It's not loud enough for her to make out every word, though. She sits up, stretches the sleeping-on-the-couch kinks out of her arms and legs, and looks around.

She almost startles when she sees Will sitting there in the armchair, stock still, coffee mug in hand, staring intently ahead. She turns her head to see what has captured his attention... and blinks.

**STAY AT HOME** , the headline at the bottom of the screen reads. **California Governor Orders Residents to Shelter-in-Place.**

Angie turns to catch Will's eye. She whispers, "Oh. My…"

Will finishes it with her. "Gah."


	5. All Up in Your Beeswax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks at the screen. It's a text notification from Poppy.
> 
> And a bunch of news alerts and tweets that he hadn't noticed before this. He immediately scrolls through them. They are all about the same topic, though Poppy's has more capslock: _HOLY $#*!, DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?!_

Will wakes up early that morning, just as the sun rises. It'd been a rough night.

When he'd wished her good night yesterday evening, all snuggled up in her quilt, he'd leaned over, his face only inches away from her forehead when he’d halted, hardly daring to breathe. And yet, he didn't immediately move away, either, letting himself imagine what it would be like to gently brush away her tangle of curls and give her temple a kiss. But he didn't follow through. After a long moment, he stood back up and patted her gently on the shoulder before leaving. Her eyes had never opened once, and thank god, because he doesn't know what he would have done. Probably scramble backward, trip over the rug and hit his head on the coffee table.

Or maybe he would have worked up the courage and kissed her. And not just on the temple.

Yeah. A rough night. Knowing that Angie was out there on the couch was torture, wishing he were there with her, like that night they slept on the floor. Or even better, in here with him. It'd made him tingle all over to even entertain that thought. But she was out there, sleeping peacefully, probably dreaming about getting back to Barstow and restarting her sickeningly-cute family.

He'd uncurled a fist when he realized he was holding it. He finally settled into dreams at some point, ones that tossed between daydream and nightmare.

So his eyes pop open the moment the sky starts to lighten, and he soaks in a long shower trying to clear his brain.

No one else is awake in the house when he pads into the living room. He stops at the threshold to look at Angie there, mouth open and drooling, hair plastered to her face and quilt piled around her ears. She's gorgeous.

He wants to kiss her awake, promising to make her breakfast and a fresh pot of coffee, but ultimately ending up getting donuts and lattes delivered instead because they end up in his— 

He shakes his head, hard. He's got to get her up and back to Barstow before he does something he'll regret, something that will ruin the best friendship he's had in years.

He can fulfill part of that fantasy, though. He can start a pot of coffee and mix together some batter for waffles, get Graham up and going so all she has to do is sleepily ingest some breakfast, and then get bundled back into the car. 

Trying to be as quiet as possible so she can sleep, Will bustles about the kitchen. He likes this, likes this feeling of providing for a family again, even if it's only for one morning—measuring the coffee grounds, filling the carafe, pouring the water, listening for the telltale sounds of bubbling and steaming as the first drops flow into the pot. As soon as there's enough to pour himself a cup he does, taking a big swig and setting it on the kitchen island beside his phone. He begins to hum under his breath as he gets out the mixing bowl and the whisk, the flour and the milk... 

His phone buzzes then, so loudly he worries it might wake Angie. He listens. There's a small groan and a shifting of blankets, but nothing else. Then he looks at the screen. It's a text notification from Poppy.

And a bunch of news alerts and tweets that he hadn't noticed before this. He immediately scrolls through them. They are all about the same topic, though Poppy's has more capslock: _HOLY $#*!, DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?!_

No.

Not this soon. He thought he had at least another day.

He leaves the waffle ingredients on the counter, grabs his coffee and phone and uses the remote to switch the TV on. If this news is true, then Angie won't be getting much sleep anyway. He sits there, flipping channel after channel, morning show to morning show, even the national news. He can't deny his eyes any longer. 

California has been shut down.

So he just sits there, watching the scroll, listening to the talking heads debate the rate of community transmission, how long this might go on for—letting his coffee grow cold between his hands.

He almost doesn't notice when Angie sits up, stretching, and says, "Good morning." But he definitely notices it when she stills and turns to look at him, her face full of shock. "Oh. My...."

"Gah," he agrees with her in unison.

* * *

Angie picks at her waffle, ignoring yet another flash of a notification on her phone screen. She turned off the vibration ages ago and now she finally turns the screen upside-down. Half are from Poppy, the other half from Derek. She can't face either of them yet. Not until she's got some coffee and breakfast in her. 

Only, even these light-and-fluffy waffles with powdered sugar and fresh berries are hard to get down. The few bites she's managed to swallow feel like cement in her stomach. Will's quiet as he eats, too. One carefully cut and chewed bite at a time, his eyes not really focusing anywhere but the tiles on the kitchen wall.

Doesn't seem to be affecting either of the kids, though. Graham has wolfed most of one and is starting on the next, his covered in chocolate chips and whipped cream. Sophie's just has a simple maple syrup topping, but it's almost gone. Of course, they didn't say anything to the kids yet. She's dreading that conversation. Graham only found out she was even in Barstow after Will's botched first attempt to get him out of the camp. He's been nearly bubbling with excitement about seeing his dad again since he crossed the gates and into her arms.

What the hell is she gonna tell him?

Even harder to contemplate—what the hell is she gonna do? Like, in general?

She waits until the kids have set the plates beside the sink and have trotted off to get dressed to bring it up. "So... do you think they've blocked off the roads by now?"

Will, who had just reached to turn on the faucet at the sink, drops his hand. "What?"

"You know, are we going to have to deal with moving barricades, or fight the man, or...?" She's only half-joking. She needs to know how he's feeling about all this.

"They're not blocking off any roads, Angie." He turns slowly, one eyebrow raised. "They're just shutting down restaurants, malls, places where lots of people are in close contact. Avoid public transport, avoid travel, et cetera."

Oh. She sits up. Maybe this isn't gonna be so tough after all. "So... we can still drive to Barstow?"

"Yes." His mouth purses. "But we shouldn't."

"But we can...?"

"If you really want to." He turns back to the sink and turns on the water to wash the dishes.

"I mean, I kinda promised Derek..." she says, loud enough to be heard over the water. He nods and rubs a sponge over one of the plates, pre-washing it before the actual dishwasher. "And Graham is so excited to get to spend the summer with him, too..." 

She's not sure why she's defending herself here. He said she should go if she wanted to. And she wants to. Right?

"I'll be super-careful, like I promised. We won't leave the house, not even to shop."

He nods again, rinsing another dish and squirting a little liquid soap on a crusted bit.

"I'm gonna..." She gestures toward the bedrooms, though he can't see it with his back turned. "I'm gonna go make sure Graham is packed."

She feels so weird inside. Everything in her head is telling her that the shelter-in-place order hasn't really changed anything. But everything in her gut is saying the opposite. She should stay here, safe, not go back out on that hot desolate road to Barstow, and end up stuck in the house with Derek for fourteen days, or probably a lot more than fourteen days if what those news anchors said was true. It could bring them a lot closer, really find out if they can make things work… or cause them to get so sick of each other they never want to see each other again. She's read that there were a ton of divorces after the lockdown in China lifted.

So, knowing all that, who does she really want to quarantine with: Derek or Will?

She presses her hand to her belly and lets out a whoof of distress.

After a few seconds of breathing deeply to clear her head, she continues on to the kids' room. It's really not her decision, is it? She and Derek are doing this for Graham's sake. And she knows what Graham wants.

She opens the door to find Graham sitting on the floor, cross-legged, playing his Switch. Sophie's on the bed reading a book. Angie frowns. Even though they'd only spent one night, she expected the room to be a disaster area of Graham's clothes all over the bed and floor (he's as careful a packer as she is). Is he already done packing?

"Ready to go, bud?"

Graham and Sophie look up, exchange a glance, and go back to what they were doing. "Go where?" Graham asks, tapping at something on his screen which makes a click.

"Barstow," she says, trying not to add, 'duh.'

Now he frowns. "We're going now?" He drops the Switch to his lap and lets out a dramatic sigh. "Make up your mind, people!"

Sophie shakes her head. "Parents, am I right?"

"What the wha—?" Angie drops against the door frame.

"Dad said we should stay here for the next few weeks. To keep everyone safe, what with that helter-shelter thing," Graham says, not sounding as disappointed as she expected.

"Shelter-in-place," Sophie corrects. She turns to Angie. "Didn't you talk to Derek about this?" Her voice definitely has a rhetorical tone to it. Oh yeah it does.

"Um, yeah," Angie covers, though she's pretty sure they're not buying it. "Just making sure you're cool with it. You know, us staying here being all up in your beeswax and stuff for a couple weeks. Because if you're not—"

"Totally cool," Sophie says. "You're over here all the time anyway." 

And that's it. The kids and Derek just up and made that decision for all of them, without consulting her, huh? So she bears no responsibility whatsoever if it all goes to crap.

Yeah, gonna need another cup of coffee.


	6. Make. It. Work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I mean waiting fourteen days isn't _that_ long, right? In the grand scheme of things." That sounds like a phrase Will would say, but she doesn't care.
> 
> "It's not." He takes a few careful steps toward her, like she's a rabbit he's trying not to spook.

"So um," Angie says, walking back into the kitchen. "Do you think I could borrow a couple shirts? And maybe some boxers, too." Will looks up, startled, and she continues quickly, "I mean until I can get some clothes ordered, or whatever, unless that's shutdown, too."

He puts down the rag he'd been using to wipe down the counters. "You're... you're staying?"

"Well, yeah," she says, trying not to make it a big deal. "I mean, it makes sense not to go yet, especially if we don't want to possibly infect Derek and then the rest of Barstow..."

"It does," he agrees, drawing out his words slowly.

"I mean waiting fourteen days isn't _that_ long, right? In the grand scheme of things." That sounds like a phrase Will would say, but she doesn't care.

"It's not." He takes a few careful steps toward her, like she's a rabbit he's trying not to spook.

"And it's what the kids want. And Derek... I think."

Will's face clears. "The kids?" His eyes lighten. "The kids want this?" She notices he doesn't mention Derek, but she's not surprised.

"Yeah," she says, feeling as much relief as Will is showing in every line of his body. "Gotta do what's best for the kids, right?"

"Right, of course," he agrees. 

It's so much easier when the decision is taken out of her hands. She needs time to figure out what to do about these feelings for Will. She knows he won't push her, and Derek apparently doesn't mind that she's going to be stuck in the house with Will for two weeks, so he trusts her. Or she thinks he must, if he told Graham they should stay. Ugh, she's gotta read those texts ASAP. And respond to Poppy, too, who is probably exploding with curiosity, if the way both her and Will's phones are blowing up right now.

She realizes they've just been standing there a long time without saying or doing anything but looking at each other. 

And then she catches his eyes just at the same time he does hers.

It's like a little shock of recognition, at the pleasure and relief they're both feeling. She cuts her eyes away quickly, face hot again, and repeats, "Shirts? To borrow?"

He clears his throat. "Oh, yeah, of course." And then they both do a little dance so he can pass her without getting too close. 

When he's out of the room, she slumps against the counter. "Here we go."

* * *

_Day 1_

Will spends a lot of that first day on the phone, as the whole news station team tries to figure out how they're going to continue broadcasting. Will they operate at a lowered capacity, using social distancing? Or will everyone broadcast segments from their own homes? It's uncharted territory. He lets Tracy know about his possible brush with the virus at camp, and he can almost hear the way she cringes back, even over the phone. "God, of course, Will. Stay home. You can do your reports with your webcam or phone or-or something."

He sucks in a breath. "I don't know. I mean, I think I could do a lot more. If I got a green screen set up behind my desk, and maybe one of the cameras the guys usually use on the street..."

"Is that... really necessary?"

He can feel his back stiffening, but this is his job, dammit. "Weather isn't going to be shut down because of the virus! People need to know what's going on out there even when they're stuck inside. And what about the essential workers? The medical staff—think of them, Tracy!"

She sighs. "I mean, can't they just check a weather app...?"

"An app?" His face twists in apoplectic shock. " _An app?!_ Surely you're not serious! People need a friendly face, someone they can trust in this trying time! You think they're going to get that from _an app_?"

"I... Fine, whatever. I'll send over a camera and a green screen—and you can send me a demo."

"It's the right call," she tells her. He knows it is.

"We'll see," she answers before ending the call, but her tone implies she trusts his judgment. 

He's exhausted after a few hours of this, working out details and scheduling safe deliveries. It's so much easier just to walk across the studio to talk to a colleague in person. But he knows it's not just the added stress of suddenly working from home that's making him tired—and coming out to the living room reminds him exactly of why.

Angie sits there on the couch, one foot tucked up underneath her as she scrolls through something on her phone. Her back is to him, so she doesn't realize he's watching. It's not creepy, right? He can't see what's on her phone, and if she turns, he'll just wave and continue going about whatever business brought him this way.

What was that again?

Anyway, she looks so comfortable out there, wearing his Hilltop Elementary Spring Fling 2018 T-shirt under an old flannel button-down that has a few holes in it, not nice enough for running errands or donating, but too soft to throw out. He's glad he kept it, because she looks good in it, like she belongs there amidst his throw pillows. She chuckles at something she reads and he finds himself smiling along even though he has no idea what she's reading.

Then she turns and sees him.

He was going to wave and keep walking, right? But their grins are so alike that he freezes.

"What's so funny?" she asks, not threateningly, just curious.

"Nothing, just..." He can't think of anything but the truth, and there's no way he's going to speak that aloud so he says, "Some guys are coming tomorrow to bring some things from the station." He points back toward his home office. "So I can set up a little weather studio in there."

She tilts her head, like she's trying to figure out why that's funny. But she shrugs. "Sounds good. At least you'll be keeping busy, right?"

"Yeah." It reminds him that she will be anything but, having been fired from her job. She couldn't even work from home if she wanted to. "The show must go on and all that!"

"Oo, speaking of shows," she says, eyes sparkling, "now that I'm here for a while, we totally need to finish Gavel Town!"

"Okay, but not too fast. There are only seven episodes until the finale, right?" 

"Yeah, but only five episodes until the next twist!" 

"There's another one?" He still thinks the show stinks, and the first twist was pretty good, but kinda ruined since he knew it was coming. But with all of his friends caught up, damn if FOMO isn't strong. "One a night."

She does a little fist pump. "Yes. I'll get it ready while you're cooking dinner."

Even though she's already gone back to her phone, his heart melts a little. He doesn't know what he's going to cook yet, but he's got at least fourteen dinners with this little temporary family to look forward to.

* * *

_Day 2_

"Oh my god!" Poppy says on her third call that day, and Angie can hear the pacing through the panic in her voice. "I don't know how I'm gonna do this, Ang. They shut it down. They shut everything down." It's only ten a.m.

"Yeah. It sucks." And it does, for every small business owner who suddenly lost all their customers in one fell swoop. "Could you maybe, I dunno, start a delivery service? It's alcohol, Poppy. People aren't gonna turn teetotaler overnight." She doesn't mention that she hasn't touched a drop since she left Barstow in Will's car. Too dangerous.

"Maybe? I don't know. I've thought about it. But then I either have to stay at the Winebrary alone all day long waiting for orders to come in, and interact with delivery guys from god knows where, carrying lord knows what and probably not washing their hands between orders..." She takes a breath. "...or do the deliveries myself and what if one of those people is infected—? Oh, I don't wanna think about it."

The front door opens, and the light that filters in is blocked a moment later by several pieces of equipment that a masked-up Will is trying to single-handedly bring through the door. "Hang on a minute, there's, no, I'll call you back." She tosses the phone on the couch and trots up to where he's struggling with a tripod, a projection screen and a camera bag all at the same time. She sees one of the news vans pulling out of the driveway. "Give me one of those, jeez."

He looks ashamed as he lets her take the tripod from him, shoulders the door shut and removes his mask. "You were on the phone."

She scoffs, "I'm always on the phone right now." She'd finally been an adult and talked to Derek about staying here for the fourteen day quarantine (he was surprisingly chill about it, 'It's only a couple of weeks, right?') and she'd stopped dodging texts and calls from Poppy. too. Half of it was freaking out over the shutdown and half of it was freaking out over where Angie was spending it. She wants a complete rundown every few hours, even though, like, nothing has changed. She's still feeling super-awkward, and she's still sleeping on the couch, and he's still making it super hard by being his gentlemanly self or whatever. "I can help carry the load around here, you know."

Together they carry his weatherman stuff into his office, where he's cleared an entire wall to make room for... she doesn't know what.

"Where does this go?"

"By the desk for now." He starts to fumble with the projector screen, some old-timey number that has its own stand and looks like it weighs a ton by the way he's straining to heft it onto the hook at the top.

"This is the best they could spare for you?"

"I will _make. It. Work_." His face is going actual red now.

One end of the screen begins to tilt dangerously, and she runs to catch it before it bonks him on the head. Only, he shifts to catch it, too, and her hands land on top of his. Her first overwhelming urge is to drop everything and pull away like she's been burned, but _damn_ the screen is heavy. "God, who was this built for? Cave people?" she jokes instead.

"Right?" he agrees, and she can see him blushing before she forces her eyes away. "I have no idea which back closet they found this dinosaur in." He shifts his stance, and his hands move from under hers. "Here, just help me balance it and I think I can..."

The screen drops into the hook with a loud clank, and it wobbles scarily on the tipping point before it settles. "Okay, let's just pull this down and..."

It looks like a 1940s-style map of the United States, all sepia-tinted and cracked. "Are all fifty states even on this thing?" she asks.

"I don't even think all the major Southern California cities are on it. How am I supposed—?"

"Whatcha guys doin'?" Graham's voice startles both of them, Will actually grabbing at his chest. 

He and Sophie are standing in the doorway. Sophie scrunches up her face and points dubiously toward the map. "Are we doing some sort of... summer school? Because as much as I appreciate your attempt to keep us occupied, Mr. Bass has got it covered."

Graham cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "Virtual Space Caaaaaaamp!" The kids do some sort of complicated hand-clap cheer that ends, "LBSC! LBSC! It's the place you wanna be!" and run back to Sophie's room.

"He agreed?" Will frowns. "I didn't see anything in my email. Did it go to spam...?"

"Agreed to what?" Angie has no idea what all of them are talking about, except her kid is actually excited about doing some sort of extra summer learning? She has no idea where that comes from, because her summers were a lot of floating on a lounger at the public pool and watching reruns on TV.

"I sort of implied that since the camp had to be shut down along with the rest of the state," Will says, "that he either needed to give full refunds or provide some kind of alternative."

"Even though we pulled them a day early?"

"I also kinda implied that the camp had advance notice of possible disease and that as a member of the media, I could..." He trails off, looking guilty.

"Pretty slick, Will Cooper," Angie says, impressed, and his look of guilt turns to a small, pleased smile.

That smile does things to her pants area. Oh _boy_ , does it. 

She glances around for anything to tear her mind away from those... thoughts... and sees a little scrap of green poking out of the camera bag. "What's this for?"

He comes over and squats beside the bag, unzipping the pocket. "Looks like," he says, pulling it out, "a green cloth? Am I supposed to just drape it over the projector stand or...?"

"We'll figure things out," she tells him. 

To herself, she adds, _we'd better._


	7. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there are the texts from Poppy. _Did you tell her yet?_ and fifty variations on that theme. The buzzes don't really show up in the background noise, but they distract him enough that he can see his eyes shift and his forehead tense in the raw video, and that won't do.
> 
> And no, he hasn't told her. How can he? She's clearly just marking time here, counting down the days until it's safe to go back to Barstow.

_Day 3_

The doorbell keeps ringing. Then there are the shouts and the running of footsteps, which Will is trying to ignore, but it's hard when he just can't get a good take on his weather report that's due in an hour.

Tracy had grudgingly accepted his demo was pretty good. He knew she would. Not only is he an amazing hand at a PowerPoint presentation, he's a bit of a wiz at video editing as well. 

And then there are the texts from Poppy. _Did you tell her yet?_ and fifty variations on that theme. The buzzes don't really show up in the background noise, but they distract him enough that he can see his eyes shift and his forehead tense in the raw video, and that won't do.

And no, he hasn't told her. How can he? She's clearly just marking time here, counting down the days until it's safe to go back to Barstow.

The doorbell rings again. He opens the door and calls out into the hall, "Hey guys? Are you expecting any more deliveries in the next fifteen minutes? I _really_ need some quiet while I record."

Sophie sticks her head out of the door, dressed in an orange flight suit. "Got it!" she says, before putting on a helmet and closing the door.

He frowns but doesn't think much of it. Must be a camp thing. He gets his video recorded and edited—just in time—and calls out to the house, "Okay, it's safe now!"

There's no answer. Nothing from the kids, no sound of the TV. Did they... leave? 

No, Angie is sitting at the kitchen table, scarfing down a DQ Blizzard. As she notices him come in, she drips a glob of chocolate fudge onto one of his blue dress shirts that she’s wearing. "Oh, crap!" she says, mouth still full of ice cream. 

He shrugs. "It'll come out."

She swallows quickly and searches around for something to wipe the glob off with, then ends up licking her thumb and smearing it more into the fabric.

"Don't—" he says too late, then just goes to wet a kitchen rag. "You have to dab it, not rub at it." He sits on the stool beside her and leans in close to dab with the cloth.

It isn't until he's dabbed a couple of times that he realizes he should have just given her the rag. He's just so used to doing it for Sophie without a second thought. He pauses and catches her eyes, which are wide and a little startled. But then he continues to dab, purposefully, taking care to do it gently and correctly, despite the tightness in his chest.

A month ago, two months ago? This wouldn't have been weird at all. But now, with their faces so close...

He clears his throat and backs up, pointing toward the empty ice cream cup. "So that's all the constant doorbells were? For snacks?" Then he points at his shirt, which has a large wet spot on it now, but no sign of chocolate. "And not clothes?"

"Hey," she says defensively. "I ordered clothes, too. They'll be here, you know, sometime. But I got you snacks, too!" She stands up and walks over to the pantry, and she's wearing only a pair of his boxers that peak out from under the long tail of the shirt. And there's a lot of leg showing.

He grips the counter reflexively. "Oh yeah?"

"All sorts of good stuff. And I'm being careful! Washing my hands and repackaging things. You'd be proud. Anyway—" She opens the freezer and pulls out a fresh Blizzard from its depths. Holding it out to him, she says with a smile, "This is yours. I mean, if you can take a snack break?"

He nods and takes it thankfully. He tries to let the cool sweetness distract him as he takes each bite, but it's hard to forget that even sweeter smile.

* * *

_Day 4_

"This one?"

The twin sighs that come through the phone screen send a ripple of shame through Angie. "Good lord, woman. Have you never learned the difference between a 3/8 and a 1/2 inch socket wrench?" Amy says.

"Dad! Are you sure we can't go over there?" Emma yells over her shoulder. "She's totally biffing this install."

"No, girls," Douglas' voice comes from off-screen. "This is an online-only consultation. You can still charge your normal rate."

"It's not about the money, Dad!" Amy yells. "It's about the quality!"

"Well, it's kinda about the money," Emma says to Amy privately, but still loud enough for Angie to hear. "To be honest."

"Of course it is, but not _only_ about the money," Emma agrees. "But the future of our consultancy gig depends on good customer reviews. So if we're not going to make sure that the work is done right, then we might as well—"

Graham pops his head in. "How's it goin', pardners?" He's wearing a cowboy hat with a red bandana hanging around his neck. Where did that come from?

"About like you'd expect," Amy drawls.

"You maybe wanna take over?" Emma asks Graham. "You might be quicker."

" _And_ more teachable," Amy adds.

"Girls, girls!" Angie shouts. "I can do this, just walk me through it."

"What do you think we were doing, D'Amato?" Emma scoffs. At an askance look from Amy, she sighs. Extremely slowly, she explains, "Okay, so get the 1/2 inch socket wrench, yes, that's the one. And place it on top of the bolt. No, not there, remove the bolt cover first, jeez... sorry. Yes. That cover..."

By the time the toilet seat is replaced, Angie's sweating through Will's hoodie. But she's done it, and that's what matters. And fifty bucks for the consultation plus another sixty for the seat was totally worth it. After all, she was the one to break it.

"And next time," Amy chides, "Use a step stool to change the light bulbs instead of standing on the toilet!"

* * *

_Day 5_

"Oh my god," Will says, mouth still dropped open as the credits begin to roll.

Angie smacks him in the arm, hard enough to shake the bowl of popcorn in his hands and cause several kernels to tumble into his lap and onto the couch. He doesn't really notice. "What'd I tell you?!" she crows.

"I mean—you told me there was another twist, but I didn't think it was gonna be _that_!"

"Right?" She starts picking up a kernel at a time and placing them in her mouth as she talks. "When the mom's brother—"

"—turns out to be the Judge's former—"

"—lover who left him in—"

"—São Paulo?"

"I didn't see that coming the first time, either!" She starts to dig in the crevice between the cushions. "But they totally laid the groundwork from, like, the pilot! You have to rewatch to catch it all."

He makes a face. "But do I have to? That pilot was just awful..."

"It's worth it, though! To see all the little hints." Her hand starts to dig close to him, and he tries to act as if each accidental touch isn't practically setting him on fire.

"The pain is worth it? Where have I heard that before?" She doesn't know that his words have an extreme double meaning right now, and it's just as well.

"Doesn't make it less true," she says, and then, "Aha!" Her hand pulls out, not a kernel of popcorn, but a Mardi Gras-style feathered domino mask. "Wha...?

"Where'd that come from?" he asks, glad that she's moved a few inches farther away to inspect this odd item.

She turns it this way and that. "The kids?" She shakes her head. "You sure got some kind of costume closet, the way they're dressed in something different every day."

"Yeah... like I said, never seen that before."

They both pause, listening for the sounds of the house in the quiet after the credits have finished, and there are definite sounds of some sort of rhythmic stomping coming from the bedroom area. "I'm not sure..." she starts.

"...what that is..." Will continues.

"...should we go find out?"

He considers. Angie is sitting close, so close that all it would take is a slight shift to be touching her. The kids seem to be happily engaged in camp stuff, why bother them? He's really glad Lance caved to pressure, especially when these are the benefits.

And just then, without him moving first, Angie reaches over to grab a handful of popcorn out of the bowl, scooting close enough as she does that her thigh touches his. "Nah. They're good. They've keeping each other company."

"Yeah," he says, the word coming out like an exhaled breath. "They are."

She gives him a look while she's chewing like she knows exactly why he said that, but she can't, can she? She's going back to Barstow in nine days.

Without moving, she grabs another handful and sighs happily. "Oh my god, you're going to love the next episode."

"Spoilers," he complains gently, but his pitch is rising. "And no, we can't watch it yet. You promised me, only one a day, right?"

She pouts. "Spoil _sport_ , I think you mean. Fine. You wanna watch a movie or something? Lemme see..." She starts to flip through the channels, squinting at the screen as she tries to decide. And she doesn't notice, but she's squirming closer into him as she moves, so close that he could wrap an arm around her shoulders.

But he doesn't.

He also doesn't move away.

* * *

Angie knows she's being reckless, sitting so close, touching all along one leg. Her bare skin is on fire where they're in contact, with his sweats, not even his bare skin. She's wanted to get this close again ever since the cuddling. 'Cause she's a cuddler. She's accepting that now.

She wiggles in closer while she's surfing the channels, and she can hear his breath catch. It's cruel, she knows, but she can't help it. She doesn't know how she's found the willpower to stay away all of five days. This is the kind of person she is, right? Spontaneous, throwing caution to the wind, getting drunk and setting things on fire...

"What about _You've Got Mail_? That looks fun."

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. "You. Want to watch. A rom-com?"

She shrugs, "Or maybe _John Wick_. I hear there's a cute dog."

"No, no," he says. "You've Got Mail is a good one."

"You've seen it?" She knows he has, he's a total sap for these kind of movies. She's baiting him and by the twinkle in his eyes, he knows it. "Aw, well then maybe—"

He wrestles the remote control out of her hands and she yelps with delight, grabbing at his wrists to try to get it back. But he manages to press play just before it skitters out of both their hands and tumbles across the coffee table and to the floor.

"I guess we gotta watch it now," she says.

"We gotta."

She takes the bowl from him and settles into the crook of his arm, hoping he won't protest or move away. For a beat, she thinks he's going to—and then he relaxes into it.

She knows she's wearing a goofy triumphant grin—and she doesn't care.


	8. Do the Kick-Turn Higher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God. Just when she thought she was starting to make a decision, Derek reminds everyone what awaits them at the end of this fourteen days. Stupid COVID. Stupid confusion.
> 
> Stupid feelings.

_Day 6_

Angie feels herself shaken awake, and at first she doesn't know where she is. The last she remembers was falling asleep somewhere near the end of the movie, Will's arms around her and feeling warm and protected. Her dreams had been... a little less warm and a little more hot. As she comes back to consciousness, she fights to stay there, Will kissing his way down her—

"Mom! Mooooom!" Graham gives her a really hard shake.

Her eyes fly open and she flings off the blankets. "Whaaaaat?!"

Graham shoves her phone at her. She blinks at it which gives her a moment to take in that he is wearing a 70s disco outfit, all silver sparkling spandex and a wide collar. But then she sees the name on the screen. Derek.

"He's been trying to call and you weren't picking up."

"I was sleeping, buddy." Her voice sounds like gravel. And feels like it. She glances at the time on the phone screen. Ten-thirty a.m. Wow, did everyone just let her snooze away here? "But I'll talk to him."

"Ang?" Derek sounds super-relieved to hear her voice, and she feels a pang of guilt. How many times has she thought about him in the last few days? Not many, with Will swirling in her thoughts and dreams.

"Yeah, sorry. Slept in a bit today. What's up?"

"Uh, nothing really. I just hadn't heard from you in a while. Are you feeling okay? Is it a sick sort of tired? Do you need to go get tested?"

Wow. That's a lot of questions to answer after just waking up. But he's worried about her, and it's kinda sweet. "I'm totally fine, I promise. Not even a sniffle."

There's a tap on her shoulder, and she turns her head to see Will with a steaming cup of coffee held out to her. She gives him a 'yes, please' nod and he sets it on a coaster for her on the coffee table.

"—and there's not much for me and Phoebe to do around here except take walks around the block between deliveries."

She realizes that she hadn't been listening to a word Derek had said since Will tapped her on the shoulder. "Yeah, I get that," she says, responding to the part she actually heard. "Wait a sec. Deliveries?"

"Well, yeah, like I said, Ratso's is closed down, so I got hooked up with Instacart to keep a little money flowing in. Didn't you hear me?" He falters a little. "Or did I say that? I'm not totally sure..."

"Oh, you probably did, sorry, I got distracted. Still waking up." She sits up, and stretches a crick out of her neck. Ugh, this couch has not been kind to her. "You're delivering food? Derek, is that safe? I mean—"

Suddenly the phone is snatched out of her hand. "Derek, are you crazy?" Will says. Apparently being Mr. Safety overrides whatever awkward thing he and Derek have going on. "You're in and out of a grocery store all day long and interacting with god knows how many germs and then delivering to people who might be on home quarantine?"

"Who do you think is out there delivering food to us? Not everybody has money and a job where they can just hole up at home," Angie says, and by the way Will shoots her a look, she guesses Derek said the same thing.

Will listens for a bit longer, nodding his head and getting more concerned as it goes. "Yeah, I see what you mean," he says, and "I get it." Finally he hands the phone back with a mouthed, "Just tell him to be careful."

"Hey," she says, "You just be careful, okay? Me and Graham? We want you to be healthy when we see you again."

"Yes, ma'am," Derek says, a smile in his voice, and she finds herself smiling back, though her worry hasn't lessened.

When they end the call, she turns to thank Will for his understanding, but he's gone. Back in his office, outside, with the kids, she doesn't know. He's just not here.

God. Just when she thought she was starting to make a decision, Derek reminds everyone what awaits them at the end of this fourteen days. Stupid COVID. Stupid confusion.

Stupid feelings.

* * *

_Day 7_

"I've got it!" Will says when the doorbell rings. There's a pause after the door opens, and Will says, dumbfounded, "Miggy?"

"Oh, hey, Will," Miggy says cheerfully. "Hey, Angie. I was super-stoked to score you guys!"

Angie peeks her head around the corner to see him, brightening. "Hey!"

Miggy's standing there with four bags in his gloved hands, his face covered by a black mask.

"I didn't know you were DoorDashing, dude! What happened at the office?"

He sets the bags down at the threshold and steps back to take a photo of them with his phone. "Well, they sent everyone home on Monday who had, you know, jobs they could actually do from home. Me?" He cuts a finger across his throat, then shrugs easily. "Not so much."

"Sorry, to hear that, man," Will says, picking up the bag. 

"Yeah, dude," Angie adds. "Sucks."

"Hey, no big," he says. "I got this sweet gig pretty fast, and Poppy's watching Jack, so we all good." He stumbles a step back and hits his head with the heel of his hand. "Oh, wait! I forgot I got something else to give you two!" He jogs back to his car and pops the trunk.

Will and Angie give each other confused glances, but Miggy's back too quickly for them to wonder what he means. He holds up two wine bags, emblazoned with the Winebrary logo. Poppy figured out a way to keep in business! That's her girl. "One to share," Miggy says, handing a bag to Will, "And one more just in case." He hands that one to Angie. "That's what Poppy said to say."

Angie lets out an awkward laugh; she avoids seeing how Will is reacting. Of course Poppy would send over wine. Angie + Will + Wine = Confessions, right? Which is why she hasn't had so much as a sip since they'd retrieved the kids from camp. "Tell her _thanks_ ," she drawls, though Miggy doesn't get the sarcasm. That's okay, she'll repeat it over text later.

"Gotta jet, guys, more Winebrary deliveries to make while waiting for the next DD call!" Miggy hops a couple steps backward and then jogs back to get into his car.

"He is... really enjoying this job," Will comments, his eyes following Miggy's departure down the road.

"He's just like that, you should have seen him at the office. He's probably raking in the tips."

"He'd better be. I just worry about his and Jack's health, not to mention Poppy and Rory..." Will trails off. He's probably thinking about Derek, too. She knows she is.

Angie grabs the food and carries it to the kitchen table, calling out, "Dinner!"

The kids run from the back, dressed head to toe in black. "Yay! Chinese!" Graham says.

"Did they remember the chopsticks?" Sophie asks, sticking her head into the bags.

"Hands!" Will chides, and the chaos of washing and separating and sanitizing before eating commences. She forgets all about Poppy and her gift wine until she gets a text thirty minutes later, with a copy of Miggy's photo of the delivery bags. Her feet and legs feature front and center, bare all the way up to the edge of Will's boxers. _Getting pretty comfortable there, huh, D'Amato? ;-D_ is the caption.

Angie got some replacement clothes the other day, some jeans and a pair of sweats, a pajamas set... but she hasn't even opened the packaging. All she's been doing is binge-watching TV shows and playing on her phone. So what's the point? Especially when Will's shirts and boxers are way more comfortable. Or at least, that's what she's telling herself.

_Pants? What are pants? :P_ she texts back. She doesn't mention the wine, which is staying safely out of sight in the cabinet.

* * *

_Day 8_

"Daaaad!" Will straightens from his hunched over position at his desk. That's weird. The kids were eerily self-sufficient for the first week, and he was starting to think it was the new normal.

"Sophie?" There's no answer back, but as he walks toward the bedroom, he can hear a whispered argument.

"It's your fault," Graham hisses. "I told you, you have to do the kick-turn higher."

"Well if you hadn't bungled the box step I would have had more room to move!" Sophie hisses back.

Will opens the door slowly. "Kids? What's the problem?"

He comes into the room. The bed has been moved all the way to the far wall, and the entire floor is covered in a tarp, which extends to the ceiling on one side, a vast expanse of light green. It looks like something out of those behind the scenes special features for Star Wars movies. It's a heck of a lot nicer than the crappy projector stand and sheet he's been using for his weather reports.

"Where did... how did...?" He's been in to say goodnight every night since the kids have been back from camp. Where has all of this been hiding? And Graham and Sophie are both wearing mountain climber outfits, full-on khaki with little feathered hats. What the hell is going on? He gestures to them and everything else. "And...?"

They both frown, like this should be completely obvious. "Camp." Graham says. 

"Came in boxes the first few days?" Sophie says, like she's concerned about his mental state. She goes on before he can ask about the how again. "Emma and Amy helped us set it up over FaceTime." She shoots Graham an annoyed look. "But we can't get their help _now_."

Graham's face starts to turn red, either because he's going to explode in anger or burst out crying, and Will's not sure which. "Kids, kids! Calm down. What's the problem? How can I help?"

"Well, we were—" Graham pants between words. "—learning something—for the—"

" _Camp thing_." Sophie interjects quickly, sternly.

"Yeah, the—camp thing—and the—"

"Internet went out."

"Yeah." Graham looks like he's getting control of whatever he's feeling now, which is good. "We got... dropped from... the Zoom call."

They figured Zoom out on their own, too? That’s better than some of his colleagues. Guy McCormick either shouts too close to the screen the whole call or can't figure out how to take himself off mute (which is the greater blessing, to be honest). "And you think it went out because someone," he asks, not naming Sophie, "kicked something?" 

Graham nods, pointing at the little WiFi extender in the corner of her bedroom.

Sophie frowns and folds her arms. "It was working fine until then."

Will bends down to look at the device. It's plugged in, some lights are flashing, so he's not sure what happened. He tries the first trick in the book—unplugging and plugging it back in again. The three of them wait quietly while all the lights slowly come back on (he's pretty sure the kids are not speaking to each other out of anger) and then—

"Hey, you guys are back!" comes from the desk. 

Will whirls to see a screen full of little faces and Lance Bass in Zoom boxes, all dressed the same—but not as mountain climbers like Sophie and Graham. "We missed the costume change!" Graham yells in anguish, throwing his hands into the air.

"Out, out, out!" Sophie yells as well, pushing Will with all her little might out into the hallway.

The door shuts in his face, and he blinks, not really sure how things turned around so fast. "You're welcome!" he shouts at the door.

* * *

_Day 9_

_"And now let's move into Downward Dog..."_ Will hears coming from the TV in the living room. Is Angie doing yoga? Wow, she must be feeling really stiff from all the sleeping on the couch. Well, not just sleeping. All the binge-watching, all the snacking, all the scrolling through her phone. She's made the place her base camp; she's never complained.

But instead of seeing Angie posed with her rear in the air—he's half relieved, half disappointed—she's slumped down on the yoga mat, face pressed into the grooves of the mat, totally asleep. As he creeps closer, he even hears a little snore rumble out.

Should he wake her? The position she's in will probably give her a backache, if the couch hasn’t already. Maybe they should trade places tonight. He feels a rush of shame that he hadn't insisted they take turns already.

He kneels down beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. "Hey," he says quietly. "Let's get you someplace more comfortable." He feels another rush, this time of heat, at the double-meaning of his words. But he means them literally, and she's very much still asleep.

"Okay," she says back, eyes not opening. She lets him put an arm around his shoulders and lift her to her unsteady feet.

As they walk toward the bedroom, she slumps against him, her head falling into his neck. She buries her nose there and hums, mumbling something he can't understand. He likes it more than he could ever admit to her.

Finally they get to the bedroom and he sits her down on the opposite side from where he usually sleeps. Otherwise, it feels a little too intimate for the kind of distance he's miserably been trying to maintain. He helps her lie down on the pillows, tucks her legs and feet under the covers and pulls the blankets on top. He's halfway to giving her a kiss goodnight—just like he does Sophie every night, just like he almost did the first night she was here—when he pauses again.

But this time, he doesn't walk away with a pat and a whispered good night. This time, he leans the rest of the way down, pressing his lips lightly to Angie's temple, then a little more firmly. He loves her, and it's been hell pretending that nothing has changed between them. So if this secret kiss is the closest he can get to confessing his feelings for her, then he's going to give in. This once.

His lips lift from her soft skin, and he runs a hand down her arm before he heads for the door and closes it as quietly as he can.

* * *

As soon as the door shuts, Angie's eyes fly open. "Crapballs. We're effed."


	9. Procrastination Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's exhaustion. _Emotional_ exhaustion, too. At how incredibly, incredibly _effed_ they are. She kept replaying that stupid goodnight kiss over and over all last night, while she tossed and turned here in Will's bed. The feel of it on her skin, the way those lips might feel on other parts of her skin...
> 
> Goddammit, she is really in love with him, too.

_Day 10_

Angie wakes up the next morning in Will's bed. The light filters in through the window, but she can't tell whether it's early morning, mid-morning, or even almost noon. She's just _tired_. Tired in a way that makes no sense. What has she been doing all day except killing time? She's not working from home like Will; she's not doing virtual camp like the kids. She's barely even carrying her weight around here since Will does all the cooking (which everyone agrees is best, especially Angie). She does the laundry, but it isn't much since the kids aren't letting her touch their weird array of costumes ('Mr. Bass says they are dry-clean only!'), so it's mostly hers and Will's. Or really mostly Will's, since she's still borrowing his clothes.

She sits up on her elbows, peering around for the clock, and she finds it on the bedside table on the other side of the bed. An old-style one with silver hands and a bell on top. But the face is blurry—her eyes haven't quite adjusted. She flops over and crawls toward it, blinking at where the hands are pointing. Is that 10? Or 11?

And what day is it anyway? Ten-day?

That's not a real day that exists, silly rabbit.

No. It's exhaustion. _Emotional_ exhaustion, too. At how incredibly, incredibly _effed_ they are. She kept replaying that stupid goodnight kiss over and over all last night, while she tossed and turned here in Will's bed. The feel of it on her skin, the way those lips might feel on other parts of her skin...

Goddammit, she is really in love with him, too. In love with those stupid lips and that stupid face and, and—

Ugh. Best just to go back to sleep and let her subconscious deal with it some more. Does she really have to get up? The bed is super comfy, like gooooooddd, what kind of mattress is this? Like extra-soft pillow top memory foam or something? Trust Will to have an amazing mattress.

She stills and listens for sounds in the house. There's Will a couple doors down, talking at his desk in a meeting or something. There's the usual sounds of dancing that have been coming from the kids' room. Will said they were using some sort of high-tech green screen or...?

They don't need her there, or need her to be conscious. Right?

Yeah.

And this pillow, it smells familiar and comforting... Will-ish.

She falls asleep again on his side of the bed.

* * *

_Day 11_

Will lets her sleep in his room again the next night. She'd been so sleepy, and that worries him—exhaustion is one of the symptoms of COVID. But she assures him, when she's awake, that she isn't having any trouble breathing, or any of the other many symptoms on the list. She's just bored. Unlike the rest of them in the house, she just hasn't had anything much to do to keep occupied.

And though he's tried to pretend otherwise, he's feeling pretty tired himself. It's just the oppression of day after day of the same thing—working via Zoom and video is ten times more draining than being in the studio or reporting outside. He doesn't know how the kids aren't falling over at the end of every day with all that dancing.

Come to think of it, he and Sophie used to do puzzles or play a board game together a few nights a week, but they haven't done that since she went off to camp...

"Game Night!" he announces to everyone at the dinner table that evening.

The kids groan and slump to the side. Angie frowns in confusion. "Wha—?"

"Come on, you guys," he says, trying to drum up a little enthusiasm. "We haven't really done anything together since quarantine started!"

"What do you call this?" Graham asks, pointing to the dishes of food in the middle of the table. "I could easily be eating _while_ I'm playing ACNH."

"I'm barely staying awake for _this_ ," Sophie says. She's looking like it, too, her little eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

"You mean I could have been eating _all_ of my meals in front of the TV?" Angie says, indignant.

"Just an hour? I promise it'll be fun." Will walks over to the games shelf, scanning for something fun, easy to play, about an hour in length. "How about..." And could bring out a little of Angie's competitive streak. "Ticket to Ride?"

"Ticket to Where?" Angie asks. She's not on board yet, but he'll get her there.

Will brings it to the table and sets it down. "It's about trains?" Graham says, and he's looking interested.

"And geography," Sophie adds. "It's pretty fun. You try to see who can make the longest stretch of train track."

"There can be only one winner." Will glances at Angie, and catches her eye. "You have to be ruthless."

And she is. "31, 32, 33!" Angie crows, moving her marker around the edge of the board, slapping it harder than necessary with each count. "HA, b-words! I'm skunking you all!" 

"Just wait until my turn, you'll be eating those words!" Sophie promises, a wolfish glint in her eye. Angie just laughs delightedly at the bald-faced challenge.

Graham lets out a sigh, and sets his cards down. "Think we're done for."

"You might be right, buddy," Will tells him with an overdramatic sigh. "It's a fun game, but—"

"He never wins," Sophie finishes, giving her cards a devious glance.

"Is that so?" Angie asks, realization in her eyes. She turns to Sophie. "So I guess _you're_ the undefeated champ around here?" She places a finger under her nose like the mustache of a cartoon rail baron and declaims, "Prepare to eat my dust, Miss Cooper."

"We shall see about that, you foul villain!" Sophie challenges with a cascade of laughter, and it makes Will's heart want to burst with joy to see his two girls having so much fun together.

His two girls. 

He shouldn't think of it that way, but he does. It goes way beyond his attraction to her. It goes even beyond the friendship that has become so strong between them. He loves her like family, as a person he wants to fold into his family.

He looks over at Graham, and sees a familiar-looking fond smile on his face, like maybe this could be the family he needs instead of the one that awaits them in Barstow. Or not instead of, but in addition to.

"I've got two on Sophie," he murmurs to Graham. "Want in?"

Graham raises an eyebrow. "Two of what?"

"Snickers. Sound fair?"

Graham nods. "I'll take that bet and raise you one."

Will pays out three Snickers bars that night, plus two more for the very poor winner and maybe not so devastated loser.

* * *

_Day 12_

Angie wakes up pretty early the next morning. She turns on her side to check the clock: it's only seven. Maybe she's finally getting enough sleep now that she's in a bed again? She tried really hard to get Will to switch back with her, but he was all, "No. Half and half from here on out, remember? You spent longer than a week out there. It's only fair."

She's staying on his side of the bed. It's got a nice, comfy groove and everything. If she could just get him to come share it with her, maybe she could convince him to trade sides with her...

She swallows. 

Is she already imagining a future where they're sharing this bed, full time?

She swallows again. 

She is. They're not going to Barstow anymore. That window has slammed shut tighter than the outside door of the SpaceX rocket. 

So now, she just has to tell Will. 

And Derek.

And Graham, ughhhhhhh, Graham. 

She moans into the pillow, a long drawn-out groan. She contemplates staying here in bed, trying to figure out what to do, but it's useless. She's got two more days (three if you're being technical) before she has to do or decide or _say_ anything, right? Procrastination rocks.

She throws off the covers and starts to wander toward the kitchen. Will's up by now, right? There's probably coffee hot and ready to get in her belly. But he's not in there. No coffee. No breakfast cooking. And only a pile of perfectly folded blankets on the couch where he slept.

Hmm. Well, _she_ could make the coffee. Right? That's not... burnable, is it?

She goes looking for likely items to use. Coffee maker, check. Coffee beans, check. Wait, uncheck. She opens the bag. Whole beans. Bleh. Is there a—ah, grinder, check. But how much does she pour into the grinder? She takes off the cap and uses it to scoop out beans, which smell amazing, but is it enough? How many capfuls? 

Pshh, she's just gonna ask Will.

She sets it all down and wanders toward the office. That's probably where he is, getting an early jump on the day's work, the nerd. As she nears the bathroom in the hallway, she misses the rustling around inside too late and the door opens...

"Ahh!" Wlll shrieks, like, literally shrieks like a character in a B-horror movie. 

Angie jumps back and nearly bangs her head against the wall, knocking a couple of framed family photos askew. "Oh my god!"

She doesn't know whether to cover her eyes or look away, except she can't look away. He's just there, in a towel, and it covers most of the important bits, but not his torso, which is, um, less dad bod than expected.

"What are you doing awake?!" he cries, mottled patches of red on his still damp face. He pulls the towel tighter around his waist but doesn't run away.

"It's something I do sometimes. Wake up? When my body is ready?" Why isn't she apologizing? She should be turning away and letting him slink off with some dignity intact, but she's just kinda stuck there, eyes traveling from the droplet hanging from a lock of hair on his forehead, down the line of his jaw, to his collarbone and more defined pecs than she expected... Without thinking about it, she starts to gently bite her lip.

And that's when he notices it. Notices that she's noticing him, and not in an OMG-sorry-awkward-I'll-be-going-now way, but an OMG-he's-hot-why-am-I-still-staring sort of way. His pupils darken, and he takes a step toward her.

That's when the spell breaks. 

Her fight-or-flight instincts kick in. She's not ready for this yet, she needs more time to wrap her head around sexy Will Cooper, not just heartwarming Will Cooper, great dad, best friend, fun to joke around with Will Cooper. Oh god oh god oh god—

"I'm, uh, gonna, um—" She just backs away, into the door frame of Will's bedroom, fishes around behind her for the doorknob, and drags herself behind the door to shut it.

She leans against the wood, panting, heart pounding. Why did she do that? If there was ever a perfect time to say something, do something, that was it. What is wrong with you, D'Amato?

* * *

_Day 13_

Will keeps playing The Incident (that's what he's calling it in his mind) over and over. Angie was definitely checking him out. Right? I mean, the look up and down, biting her lip, her face, her breathing, the stumbling backward...

Does Angie... like him? Like, like like him? The way he likes her?

He wishes he had Poppy right there to interpret her behavior for him. Poppy had told him Angie liked him back before Angie decided to go to Barstow. If that was true, then she would have stayed, right?

But she did stay, didn't she?

She could have gone back to Barstow to quarantine.

She didn't protest when 'the kids and Derek' decided she and Graham should stay. 

She's barely mentioned Derek outside of the phone call about a week ago.

He pulls out his phone, sends a message to Poppy. _Do you think Angie still likes me?_

* * *

_What did you DO?!_ says the message from Poppy. Angie has been staring at it for fifteen minutes. She's completely lost track of whatever is going on with the Tiger King on screen, and she's feeling too stunned to sit up and press pause on the remote. Will's been talking to Poppy. Why else would she be asking?

 _I,_ she finally types, _saw him in a towel. Only a towel._ She takes a deep breath and types a bit more. _I liked it. I think he could tell._

The three dots appear as she waits for Poppy's reply.

But she decides not to wait. _I still like him. Or maybe more like love him._

The three dots stop.

She tosses the phone to the other side of the couch, her heart beating as fast as it did the other day. Oh, god. She's done it. She's told someone. Maybe it was basically the same thing she told Poppy before Barstow except cranked up a few notches, but still. Nobody knew her feelings were getting stronger. Now someone does.

She lets her heart slow down a bit before sitting up and digging for the phone between the cushions where it landed. _OH. MY. GOD. GIRL, YOU HAVE TO TELL HIM. If you knew what I knew..._

 _I know he's in love with me,_ she texts back.

_YOU DO?! HOW!?_

_He told me when we were drunk. I remembered on the road to Barstow when I smelled the candle you put in my garbage bag._

😲 _YOU—_

There's a long pause with no dots. Angie wonders if Poppy dropped the phone and cracked the screen or something.

But she does come back a few minutes later. _You—remembered THREE WEEKS AGO and never told anyone!!!!?_

 _Yep,_ she texts. She's extremely glad she's quarantined across town and not within strangling distance. _I just—didn't know what to do with it._

There's another pause, then: _YOU ARE BOTH KILLING US OVER HERE!_

_US?_

_Girl, you gotta know your Will-They-Won't-They is way more interesting to the rest of the group than any damn Gavel Town._

Okay, so everyone knows now except Will. And Graham. And Derek. 

Why doesn't it seem any easier?


	10. Indubitab-bubbly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Forget work," Will says, standing. "I'm due a sick day."
> 
> "All right!" Angie holds out her hand for a high five, and he slaps it without hesitation. If this is the last day, he's going to make every second count.

_Day 14_

This is it. The last day of Angie and Graham's self-isolation. They're both healthy, so are he and Sophie. There's no reason for them to stay cooped up with the Coopers (why does that sound like a cheesy 80s sitcom?) after today.

But there's been no talk of plans, no packing of garbage bags, breakfast comes and goes without anyone really even starting a conversation. The kids wolf down their food, still in pajamas, and head back to Mission Control. So Will and Angie are left alone at the table, neither willing to catch the other's eye.

Who will break the stalemate?

Turns out, both. "So..." they both say at the same time, and Angie laughs.

"What do you want to do today?" Angie asks. "We could... finish the last two Gavel Towns. Finally."

Will sighs. "I guess so." He's been putting it off, making excuses for why he doesn't want to watch them yet. It feels like—when they're finished watching, so is this. This unexpected gift of uninterrupted time together. "I read production shut down, too. They don't know when they'll be able to start on the next season. Maybe never."

"Seriously?" Angie says. "I was looking forward to a bunch more seasons."

"Yeah." And a bunch more years to spend together, watching it. Not just that, but years doing everything he wants to do with Angie. Tomorrow, presumably, he's driving her back to Barstow. Maybe to stay. Their little group will get a person smaller again, and he'll have a best friend-shaped hole in his life. A heart-shaped hole in his chest.

Angie takes a sip of her coffee. "So, what. You wanna do that tonight, after dinner?"

Will feels a rush of impetuousness. "How about now?"

"What about work?" Angie asks, surprised but pleased.

"Forget work," he says, standing. "I'm due a sick day."

"All right!" Angie holds out her hand for a high five, and he slaps it without hesitation. If this is the last day, he's going to make every second count.

* * *

Will turns from setting up the episode on the television to give her a raised eyebrow. "Really? At eight A.M.?"

Angie shrugs, the bottles of wine in her hands bobbing up and down with her shoulders. "It's Day 14—the last day of quarantine. No point in saving it, right?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. It's the first time either of them have named the day aloud. But then he brightens. "You pour, I'll press play."

She hands him a full bottle. "Done."

He looks it over in his hand. "This seems familiar." Then he screws off the top and takes a big swig.

"Why mess with the classics?" she says. If she's going to tell Will how she feels today, she's gotta work up the courage. And maybe, just maybe, he'll say it first and she won't have to be the one to take that first scary step.

They're halfway through the bottle, each, when the second to last episode ends. She's feeling gently warm, a little cuddly, enough that she decides she can move a few inches closer to him on the couch. 

"Ready for the next one?" he asks.

"Indubitab-bubbly," she answers. Okay, maybe she's not tipsy yet, but she's giddy.

"On we go!" he shouts like a forward charge. He holds up the remote to click the play button.

"Mom!" Graham yells, running into the room.

"Dad!" Sophie is close behind. "It's ready!"

"You have to watch it with us!" Graham plops himself next to Angie, shoving her all the way into Will.

"Ahem," Will says, clearing his throat and looking like he also felt the heat shoot up ten degrees, "Watch what?"

"Our video project!" Sophie says, perching on the arm of the couch beside her dad. "Mr. Bass said it's going live in two minutes!"

"We have to watch it live, Mom, or..." Graham shivers dramatically. "What is the point?"

"Ooookay, buddy. No problem." She's kinda wishing they'd warned her the project was going live today _before_ they cracked open the wine. Graham takes the remote control from Will and switches it over to YouTube.

_Live in 1:19,_ the screen shows once he's found the right YouTube channel. The two kids are practically bouncing on their rears as the time slowly counts down. "Guess we'll see what all the fuss is about," Will says with a small proud smile.

"Can't wait," she agrees, patting Will's leg and Graham's leg at the same time.

The last ten seconds change to a space program-style countdown (of course), and they all count down with it in unison. "Three, Two, One, BLAST OFF!"

The screen fades to black.

The music starts up, a peppy synth intro with acoustic guitar, the screen filled with little stars in a night sky that twinkle. As the drum beat enters, the stars resolve themselves into little video boxes that grow until the camp students are all clearly visible, dressed head to toe in black. Will gives the screen an impressed thumbs up.

Sophie points to the screen, excited. "There we are!"

Lance Bass is in the center of the grid, and he starts to sing, "Oh, you can be what you wanna be / See what you wanna see / Believe in yourself, just believe in yourself..." All the kids begin choreography in their boxes, which though not completely synchronized, is still pretty cute.

"Aw, so adorable," Will murmurs to Angie.

The kids in the video join in the singing, "You can go where you wanna go / Do what you wanna do / Believe in yourself, just believe in yourself..." Angie knows she's biased, but their kids are pretty good. Maybe the best, most coordinated ones, too. "Your practice paid off, buddy." She gives him a high five.

"Some folks try to tell you / There are things you shouldn't do / That you're not strong enough, or smart enough at all / But what seems right to them / Quite often might be wrong for you." Suddenly all the kids are in mountain climber gear. "So be sure you try to climb / Before you get too scared you'll fall."

Hmm. This seems a little on point today.

She starts to watch Graham instead of the screen, who is moving his mouth along with the words, his reedy voice lightly audible. Sophie is doing the same, too, moving her shoulders back and forth in time with the beat, adding a few hand flourishes to mirror the choreography they worked so hard on.

And Will next to her, is mouthing every word, too, swaying back and forth with a little pop and lock at the edge of each change in direction. What a goof. An adorable goof.

At the end of the next chorus, the tempo picks up, the synths go funky and spacy, the screen exploding into cascading stars and all the kids are now in flight suits. "Oo, a medley," Will says. "Nice."

The kids look like they're flying through space now, a pretty cool special effect, especially if they were just using green screens at home. The other song didn't really seem familiar, but this one... "Is this 'Space Cowboy?'"

"Shh, Mom," Graham says, and she shrugs. "My solo is coming up."

And there he is, front and center, rapping the words, "Here it comes, pandemic 2020 / People talking 'bout what's happening in the land of plenty / Is this the beginning or beginning of the end?"

She frowns at Will and whispers, "Are those the right words?" He shakes his head at her like he doesn't know, but he doesn't think so.

Graham continues on the screen, "Well, I've got other thoughts my friend / See I've got my eyes on the skies / The heavenly bodies up high / And if you're in the mood to take a ride / Then strap on a suit and get inside."

And after an exploding bomb effect, they're all cowboys, standing back to back virtually in their little boxes, singing, "If you wanna fly, come and take a ride / Take a space ride with the cowboy, baby / If you wanna fly, come and take a ride / Take a space ride with the cowboy, baby..."

The kids start to gyrate their hips and pretend to rope each other with CGI lassos. "Why-yi-yi-yippie-yi-yay-yippie-yi-yo-yippie-yi-yay / Why-yi-yi-yippie-yi-yay-yippie-yi-yo-yippie-yi-yo / Why-yi-yi-yippie-yi-yay-yippie-yi-yo-yippie-yi-yay / Why-yi-yi-yippie-yi-yay-yippie-yi-yo-yippie-yi-yo..."

"Aw, so inappropriate," Angie murmurs to Will. He chuckles and nudges her. 

The song ends soon after that, turning into a short promo for _Lance Bass Virtual Space Camp, Sign Your Space Cowboys Up Today!_ The kids want to watch their music video several more times. By the fifth time, they've got Will learning the choreography. By the eighth time, Angie's learning it, too. After a couple more swigs of wine, anyway.

The kids are laughing, Will and Angie are laughing, it's such a bubble of joy in this worrying time that it feels so much more special. She picks up Graham and spins him around, then Sophie, then in her giddy, almost tipsy state, she wraps her arms around Will's waist and pretends to lift him. Of course, she can't budge him.

But then he lifts her, and they spin and spin, laughing, the kids applauding and cheering. It's magical.

He slows, wobbling a little—and she feels it too, the room is spinning from more than just wine and giddiness. As they stop, she stumbles over her own feet and he catches her, just barely, enough to keep her from crashing into the furniture, anyway. 

She flings her arms around his shoulders and clings tightly to him, burying her head in his neck. "I don't want this to end," she murmurs in his ear, breathless with bravery she's not sure will last.

He stills, and while they feel the kids and chaos and laughter swirl around them, he murmurs back into her hair, "I don't want this to end, either."

They stay like that for several minutes, even past the time when the video stops repeating, and she soaks in the feeling of him, the feeling of his presence and his warmth and his stability and his acceptance. He doesn't move, doesn't push her or pull away, he's just there.

At some point, she feels a tug on her shirt. "Mom?" Graham says.

She lifts her head, though she really doesn't want to, just enough to answer. "Yeah?"

"We gotta get back. Session 2 is starting."

She doesn't know what Session 2 is, but she's pretty sure it's "Okay."

The kids head back toward the bedroom, shut the door and it's quiet again in the living room, only the sound of their breathing. "Angie?" Will asks into her hair, barely above a whisper. 

She's even quieter. "Yes?"

He lifts his head so he can look into her eyes. "I'm going to kiss you. Is that okay?"

Her lips twist with amusement. Of course Will Cooper would ask if it was okay first. "What do you think?"

He frowns a little, like it's a tough question, and maybe it is, but she doesn't make him worry over the answer for long. Grabbing his face with her hands she pulls him down to meet her. And the kiss, it's electric. The buzz of the alcohol mixes with the sparks of attraction that have been building for weeks—well, if she's being honest with herself, two years—and she rises onto her tiptoes even as she pulls him closer, because she wants more, more of this, more of him.

And he does, too. His arm comes around her waist, and he lifts her up to carry her to the couch, laying her down on the cushions without breaking contact with her lips. Talented.

They kiss there on the couch like two teenagers, half an ear cocked for the sound of the kids leaving the bedroom, but her worry over being caught isn't nearly as strong as her desire to just keep doing this forever, his soft lips and tongue exploring, his roaming hands grazing her breasts and hips just enough to tease and drive the flame higher.

"Maybe we should..." he breathes out before kissing her again, "take this somewhere... with a lock..."

"What about the..." she teases, kissing her way down his neck, "finale of Gavel Town?"

He chuckles low in his throat, and she can feel the vibrations from her mouth to her toes. "We'll watch the last one in bed." 

He lifts her, then, proving that his less-dad-bod-than-expected has a core of steel beneath, and she wraps her legs around him so he can easily carry her down the hall, through the door and onto the bed. He kisses her again, slow and deep, before backing away, never breaking eye contact, and locking the door behind him with a snap. Sexy Will is one smooth mofo.

Then he's back on her in two seconds flat, pushing his flannel shirt off her shoulders while she unbuttons his dress shirt with surprisingly steady hands. "Think you can be quiet?" she asks.

"I'm more worried about you," he jokes.

"I'll do my best." She pulls his Hilltop Elementary 5K T-shirt from over her head and brings him back to her lips, murmuring, "'Cause you're right. I'm a screamer."


	11. Wilgie? Coomato?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How long what?"
> 
> "Since you knew you..." He kisses down from her shoulder to her chest, and places a tender one above her heart. "...felt like this."
> 
> "Um," she says, face starting to heat. "You're gonna be mad..."

"So how long?" Will asks, his breath on her skin. 

She has to struggle to think clearly, because wow. That was intense. She'd had to muffle her sounds into a pile of pillows on the bed because, well. Will is an extremely generous lover. And let's be real—she's still a little buzzed from the wine. But she tries to be coherent enough to answer. "How long what?"

"Since you knew you..." He kisses down from her shoulder to her chest, and places a tender one above her heart. "...felt like this."

"Um," she says, face starting to heat. "You're gonna be mad..."

He lifts his head. "Why?"

"'Cause..." She twists her lips in regret. "We could have been doing this for three whole weeks."

"Three—" He blinks, then swallows, hard. "And you still went to Barstow?" By the way the crease is forming between his eyebrows, she can see he's trying to understand, trying not to be annoyed, but—

"I know! It was stupid. In the car on the way, I remembered that you told me you were falling in love with me while we were drunk and cuddling, and I knew I totally felt the same way, though my first instinct was to deny it—that's like, my go to thing, you know—I should have just told Derek to turn the car around, but then you told me I should have fun in Barstow so I thought that's what you wanted me to do, like maybe you forgot what you said, too, maybe you didn't really mean it, but then you showed up at the door and we got the kids and we started spending all this time together and it was totally obvious that you _did_ still feel that way, but by then I was super confused and—"

He stops her rambling with a kiss, long and passionate and toe-curling. "You knew I was falling in love with you?"

"Yeah," she says.

"We _totally_ could have been doing this for three weeks," he says, and then he pokes her in the side. "Doofus."

"Hey!" she yelps. "That tickles."

"Uh huh," he says. And the asshole does it again!

She tries to escape, cackling, but she gets all tangled up in the covers, so there's nothing left to do but retaliate. She gets in a good shot before scrambling backward and the way his eyes flash with wicked glee sends her libido back into overdrive. 

"What's that look?" he asks, inching forward toward her. "Plotting my demise?"

"You know it." She launches forward, but instead of trying to tickle him, she straddles him and kisses him again. Voice low in her throat, she asks, "Ready for another round?"

He gives her a slow smile and nods. "Gotta make up for lost time."

* * *

Later, quite a bit later, Will comes back from the kitchen with a cup of coffee. And a pitcher of water, which she raises an eyebrow at. "Gotta keep hydrated." The wine is mostly out of his system, now, but alcohol always leaves him thirsty afterward. After setting down the tray, he locks the door again, peels off the robe and slides back under the covers.

"The kids didn't see you in that robe, did they?"

He shakes his head. "I think they're building something. There's a lot of clanking. I think I maybe even heard Amy and Emma coaching them through something?"

Angie pushes herself to a sitting position, wrapping the top sheet around her and reaching for her coffee. "Maybe the dance session is over and the space session is starting? That camp is deeply weird."

Will shrugs. He doesn't mind, the kids love it. He sidles up close to her, reaching for his own coffee. He's still wrapping his head around all of this. Angie is in love with him, too. She's here, in his bed, naked and comfortable, not making excuses why she has to go, now, and see you never! He suddenly has a flash of mornings stretching to forever where they make love as they wake, and talk and drink coffee until the kids are up for school...

Okay, he's getting ahead of himself. With Angie, it's always best to take just one step at a time. "So. Where do we go from here?"

"Oho," she says, waggling her eyebrows, "you're already ready for round three, mister? Just let me—"

"No," he says, stopping her from putting her mug down. "I mean, tomorrow. Are you..." He doesn't say 'staying' because he doesn't want to assume.

"Going back to Barstow? No. That ship has sailed. All aboard the USS Angill!" She makes a jaunty _toot toot_ sound and motion. "Or should it be Wilgie? Coomato? Maybe we don't need a smush name..."

"Hey," he says, stopping her train of thought. He takes one of her hands between his and asks solemnly, "Angie D'Amato..." and when she freezes and her eyes go wide like a deer in headlights, he slips into a crooked smile. "Will you... shelter in place with me?"

She relaxes, then her eyes begin to full on flutter. "Oh, darling," she says in a high, airy voice, putting her other hand around his. "I thought you'd never ask!"

"Sweetheart!" he imitates. "You've made me the happiest man in quarantine!" They seal it with a silly kiss that turns gentle. Will can feel the way she goes quiet when she sits back up. "Seriously, though," he says. "It could be a really long time."

"I know," she says. 

He scoots over and puts his arm around her shoulders. "We'll be okay, though, there's plenty to do. We could start a garden, learn to knit, bake homemade bread—I could even teach you how to cook..."

"...we could watch every single show on Netflix, watch some of them twice..." she counters. Off his look, she says, "All right, only if you show me how to make those waffles, first."

He smiles. "Deal."

She slides down the headboard, burying herself under the covers and groaning. "This bed is so comfy it should be illegal." 

"Hell yeah, it is." Every penny he spent on this mattress is now suddenly worth it. He smooths a hand over her shoulder and then gets farther under the covers to lie beside her, spooning her from behind.

"Uh uh," she grunts, and turns over, pushing him onto his back and nuzzling her nose into his neck. "This way." Her breathing slows and becomes regular as she falls asleep.

Seems familiar. And extremely right.

He closes his eyes as well, just intending to enjoy the feel of her against him, but he's soon asleep.

* * *

The doorbell rings. At first Will ignores it, his face buried in her skin, in her scent. But it rings again. Angie moans with annoyance. "Did you order something?"

"No," he says, snuggling in closer. "Maybe the kids have something coming for camp?"

"Let them answer it, then," she says, and runs a toe down the outside of his bare leg.

The doorbell rings a third time. Persistent. If it's a package, they should just leave it on the step. Maybe it needs a signature...?

He hears the sound of footsteps pounding toward the door. Okay. It is something for the kids, then. There's a sound of the door opening and then squeals of delight. Must be something good. All that money spent on camp has been worth it, he supposes.

"Mom! Mom!" Graham shouts and the sounds of his voice and running feet come toward the bedroom door. They both stiffen. He did lock the door, right? He definitely remembers locking the door. "It's Dad!"

Will and Angie's eyes both go wide. "Derek?" Will whispers, panicked. "What is he doing here? Why isn't he in Barstow?"

Angie's reaction is a little more concise. "Fuck."


	12. Nothing Like a Goopy Romcom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She finds Derek outside the front door, still standing six feet back from the threshold, mask on, shifting from foot to foot. He sees her and his eyes brighten hopefully. Oh god.
> 
> "What are you doing here?" is the first thing she blurts out. His eyes immediately dim. Crap, what a dummy she is. This is not the way she wanted to break the news. 
> 
> (Last chapter!)

"Just a sec, buddy!" Angie calls toward the door. "I was, uh, taking a nap!"

"Smooth," Will whispers.

"Shut up," she hisses back at him, "and get dressed. Then go hide while I distract him!"

"I don't understand why he's here at all. Were you ignoring his texts again?"

"No!" she says. Then thinks. "I don't think so." She checked her phone right before the kids came in to premiere their video. So unless he texted while he was already on the road... "No!"

"Hmm," Will says unconvinced, and she wants to smack him, but he's on the other side of the bed, hopping into his pants one leg at a time.

Angie finishes getting all her clothes on again, but it's only what she had on before Will carried her to the bedroom. "Pants!" she yelps. Oh, god, where is that box of clothes— 

"I got you," Will says, handing her a pair still in shrink wrap. "I moved them after you started sleeping in here."

"I could kiss you!" she tells him. "Or, I'm planning to kiss you a whole lot more, as soon as possible. Now hide!"

She tears open the plastic with her teeth and hurriedly gets the pants on—a pair of yoga pants that are so comfortable she probably shouldn't have avoided wearing them before—then unlocks and slips out of the door. She finds Derek outside the front door, still standing six feet back from the threshold, mask on, shifting from foot to foot. He sees her and his eyes brighten hopefully. Oh god.

"What are you doing here?" is the first thing she blurts out. His eyes immediately dim. Crap, what a dummy she is. This is not the way she wanted to break the news. "I mean, it's still Day 14. We can't leave until tomorrow."

"Oh," he says, taking a few extra steps backward. He scratches at the back of his head with embarrassment. "I thought since you left Barstow almost exactly fourteen days ago..."

She does a little mental math: it checks out. He's probably right. And no one is sick, so... She shrugs. "Maybe so."

Will comes sauntering up just then, "Hey, Derek," he says with a casual voice and a casual wave and she wants to cringe at how fake it sounds. "I thought I was bringing them back tomorrow." She wants to put both her hands over Will's mouth. Not helping, dude!

"Yeah, um," Derek says, "I guess I got the timing mixed up? I just—didn't want you to have to drive all the way there and back, since you already did that once."

"It would have been totally fine, I was the one who took her away in the first place, so—"

Okay, she's gotta put a stop to this weird one-upmanship,. She elbows Will in the side. "Quit it, you two." He makes a goofy 'oof' sound and she chuckles and shakes her head. Dork.

When she looks back at Derek, he's gone stiff, his face pale. "That's it, isn't it?" he says. "I'm too late."

"Too late for—?" Will says at the same time as Angie says, "What—?"

Derek closes his eyes and gives his head a rough shake. "I'm just gonna..." He points a thumb behind him at his car and then turns and walks quickly toward it.

"Derek, wait!" Angie calls out, and then she stumbles into the front yard to chase after him. "Don't go! We have to talk!"

Derek stops, his keys in his hand, and drops them to the side. "What is there to talk about, Ang?"

"Come on," she says, walking around to the driver's side of the car. "Don't go. You just drove two hours. Stay here and rest, let me bring you a cup of coffee."

Derek sighs. "What's the point? You chose _him_ , right?" He gestures with his keys over at Will, who is still standing in the doorway, watching. 

"Uh—how do—?" she stammers, but she sounds as fake as Will did earlier.

"Don't play dumb," he says, "It's been a while, but I know what I-just-got-some Angie looks like." While she fights for the words to say next, he continues. "I missed my chance. I didn't fight hard enough, I guess..." Then he opens the car door the rest of the way and sits inside.

Okay, so he's right, maybe not about everything, but enough of it. She lets out a frustrated breath. "At least spend some time with Graham. He's been looking forward to seeing you for two weeks—you could even take him for the rest of the summer, if you wanted..."

He looks over toward the door, and just to make her point for her, Graham is now standing there looking confused, his rolling suitcase in hand. 

"He could even be, like, your delivery buddy, along with—"

"Phoebe," they say together.

"She has been getting lonely in the car," he admits.

"I mean, as long as you take the proper precautions—PPE, sanitizer, hand washing, limit his contact with other people, all that." God, she sounds like Will now.

Derek smiles a little, though it's a sad smile. "Looks like Mr. Safety's rubbed off on you, I mean, uck, sorry, that didn't come out right."

"Hey!" she says, offended for Will despite thinking the same thing only a moment ago, "I'm the only one who's allowed to call him that."

She's not sure if Derek is ready to tease about Will yet, but when she sees a glint of amusement in his eyes she knows it's gonna be all right between them. "Okay," he says, and it doesn't matter whether he's talking about taking Graham or letting her have the nickname.

* * *

In the end, Graham does want to go, but only if he can still do virtual space camp from Derek's place. "Hey, if anything, my son _made_ you money," Angie tells Lance Bass over the phone, "How many signups are you gonna get because of his sweet, sweet solo?" An extra green screen is already on its way to Barstow. 

And the bigger surprise? Graham doesn't seem to care that Angie isn't going, too. He's just happy to spend more time getting to know his dad.

They wave to him as he goes, Angie, Will and Sophie. "Are you gonna miss him?" Angie asks Sophie.

"Yeah." She's been pretty calm about the whole thing. "But it'll be nice to get my room to myself again. And get the Animal Crossing background music out of my head, sheesh!" She walks away toward the kitchen for a snack, whistling a tune that Angie doesn't recognize.

"Just watch," Will says, nudging Angie. "She'll be complaining about being bored by evening."

She closes the front door, and it's just the two of them again. "Well, then, in the meantime, let’s finish the Gavel Town finale."

"Out here? Or in...?" He nods toward his bedroom, reminding her of his promise about finishing it in bed.

Checking to make sure Sophie isn't watching, she walks her fingers up his chest. "Better be out here. If we go in there... I don't think we'll do much watching."

He places his hands on her waist, and one thumb dips into the waistband of her pants. "I think you're right."

"Ew, guys," Sophie says, walking back toward her own room with a bowl of cereal. "If you're just gonna do that stuff out _here_ now, at least wait until I'm in my room and got my headphones on."

Will takes a shocked step back, eyes wide.

Sophie shakes her head at her dad and keeps walking. "Like we didn't know."

" _We_ didn't know!" he calls toward her.

"I think everyone knew, from what Poppy said." Angie shrugs. "I didn't think she meant the kids, too, but..."

"Knowing them, they probably had their own group text."

"Labeled 'PARENTS ARE GROSS' or whatever kids say right now, don't ask me."

"Makes sense why Graham left so easily, though."

"Probably didn't want to be around it. Sophie is good and stuck—too bad, so sad."

The teasing dies out, and there's a moment when Angie and Will just stare into each other's eyes like they're in some goopy romcom that Will likes. Eh, romcoms are not that bad, really, but nothing in a movie has made her feel like the real thing. Like this.

"She did say..." Angie says, breaking the moment first, "...that we could 'do stuff' if she's not around, right?"

Will nods. "As long as she has her headphones on first."

"Do you think it's been enough ti—"

He doesn't let her finish, picking her up and carrying her back to the bedroom while she giggles like a teenager. So embarrassing, but he kisses it away rather thoroughly.

They don't get to the finale of Gavel Town until several days later.

♥.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, let me know what you thought! 💕
> 
> Thanks again to the amazing **blithers** who beta'd 20k+ words in a month like a champ. 🌹


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